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emmy [AT] curious-notions {dot} net
August 2014
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get taken seriously

I’m reading this novel and I came across a bit of dialogue that I think perfectly fits why I hate modern literature/film:

“People think that if something ends happy, it’s not real. [...] It’s all shit. It’s not life. When bad things happen in real life you don’t get a cookie for sitting through it and bragging to your friends that it taught you the truth of the universe. It’s not beautiful. It’s not compelling. You drag yourself up and sew yourself back together and most of the time you get jack shit for not putting a bullet through your brain except another stupid sunrise that you probably sleep through anyway. [...] I had a point. I don’t know what it is, other than stupid movies are stupid and you shouldn’t let them get to you.”

I think this blurs the line between the audience and the subject a bit. Usually the characters aren’t the ones having the cookies with their friends talking about how they learned the truths of the universe, it’s the audience. If you go back to the ancient Greeks, tragedy was only one of the dramatic genres and it had a function (I really only remember catharsis, but Wikipedia says that there is also mimesis). We aren’t learning deep truths in tragedies, they just help cleanse us of our tears.

Wish comes true

Sometimes it’s funny how much life changes and how hard it can be to adjust to those changes while still staying the same. Inertia is such a funny thing. We can attempt so hard to ignore the changes or need for change going on around us. I think our ability to find new points of balance after the changes have swept you over, knocked you ass over teakettle, is such a bizarre thing.

I’m sitting in my living room in Texas. I can both vividly, incredibly strongly, feel the house on PR still around me while staring at this one. I can feel the microfiber fabric on the distorted, uncomfortable sage couch underneath me. I can imagine that Bear is sleeping in our bedroom around the fireplace and past the stairs down to the basement instead of directly on the other side of the fireplace. I’m sitting on our leather monstrosity that both Bear and I can sleep on here in Texas. I’m staring at our windows. It’s black outside here with no neighbors out back or street lamps, but I can still still see the streetlights and Mr and Mrs Right’s house. I’m in that in between phase that you get to when you’ve moved. Neither here nor there. Neither awake nor asleep. Twilight. The moment before dawn. I’m sick with longing for a place we decided to leave. I’m so grateful for the place we’ve made here in Texas. It’s awful and wonderful. It’s been a hard year. Genuinely deeply hard in a way I haven’t experienced in a while. Bear and I are still finding our feet. Bear and I some days are still trying to find if we have feet.

There’ve been some amazingly awesome moments. There’ve been some ugly, awful moments. I’ve been so grateful for the support and love we’ve been shown. I’ve been so grateful to know so many wonderful people. I’ve been so mad, upset, and distressed that I didn’t know how to get out of bed. I’m finding myself again though. I think one of the best signs of this is that my knitting is back. I also have a knitting group now. I have new people to find nicknames for. I have new depths to myself.

I still have Bear. I still have Linda. I still have my family. I still have my mind and my heart. I still have this blog.

Linda, the title is from the song “This is not a love song” by The Juliana Theory. I think the song came out in ’99.