I suppose there are a set of feelings that people have when a loved one or family member is gravely ill or dying. There’s the responsibility part; the part that reminds you that society and your family expect you to be at the bedside when things are bad. There’s the selfish part of you that wants to be there for the just in case scenario. The horrible possibility that they die tonight and you’re playing beer pong or watching Fallon at home. You need to be there so you don’t have regrets.
Everyone has this small other piece, this deranged little thought in the back of their heads that everyone will deny having – maybe in the privacy of their own thoughts they’ll admit to it – everyone regrets the thought and recognizes it as something that one never says out loud. That desire to never go in there again. To just be away, to hide from the sight of her lying in a bed with tubes and bandages. Unconscious - the body failing - the clear drips and pumps keeping her alive. A short, balding man with resignation on his face and exhaustion around his eyes talking about quality of life. The pretty nurse trying to keep from making eye contact as she shuts off respirators and roles up IV lines.
I have to clarify this, if for no other reason than to think it out for myself. I want to be there. I want to avoid seeing my friend in pain. I want to be aware of her condition and offer mental support on the off chance that we’re telepathic when we go into a coma. I want to urge her on like a fighter in a ring, to beat the reaper. To be alright. Not with me, necessarily. Just alive. I want her to have to chance to live with these new scars, regardless of their origin.
I want to get the off-white corridors and glossy floors out of my mind. I want to forget the smell disinfectant and catheters and trays of uneaten food. The stale coffee and the conversations about what all the buttons on the bed do. The expectant looks when a nurse comes in on rounds and the looks of hostility or confusion when she leaves without saying anything. The cheerful doctors that offer platitudes and a smile that crumbles around the edges from one too many white lies and hopeful statements.
My head goes to dark places sometimes.
"Whatever happened to chivalry? Does it only exist in 80’s movies? I want John Cusack holding a boombox outside my window. I wanna ride off on a lawnmower with Patrick Dempsey. I want Jake from Sixteen Candles waiting outside the church for me. I want Judd Nelson thrusting his fist into the air because he knows he got me. Just once, I want my life to be like an 80’s movie - preferably one with a really awesome musical number for no apparent reason. But no, no. John Hughes did not direct my life."
Fuck this quote.
I kinda liked Easy A, (Sue me, I’m a sucker for red heads with attitude) but this line bothered me. To imply that chivalry is inherent in these scenes from Romantic Comedies is misleading. Movies do not reliably portray healthy relationships. Take any one of these scenes (suspend your disbelief) and put them in real life. Dollars to doughnuts, the relationships all fail.
I’m not detracting from love or relationships. I just know that love doesn’t work like a shitty 80’s movie. I understand the quote and the point. Romantic and cheesy.
I can’t help but feel that this is why people have so many failed relationships. We all want the grand silver screen love story and it’s killing us to have our expectations so thoroughly beaten to death and burned by the reality that no one will love you forever, regardless of what you do.
You can drive everyone away. You can die homeless and alone.
Relationships take time and the will to work on them. No one is so perfect for each other that they will never fight.
Oh there’s a God. Of that I’ve no doubt. But there’s a Devil too. And he…you know that ol’…that ol’ Devil did? You want me to tell you about that? Yeah? Well that devil, he cut off God’s arms. And he hacked off God’s legs. And he gouged out his eyes. Ripped out his tongue and then left him lying there in a bloody heap on the floor. But, he left God’s ears so he could hear us down here when were wailing and thrashing and praying for his help. But brother, there ain’t damn thing God can do to help us…Just choose hate. It’s so much easier.
Reverend Cole - Hell On Wheels
The finale was intense. Another excellent series from AMC.
Ambiguous statement, but allow me to elucidate. I think I figured out how my mind became used to connecting strange things. I’ve spent some time observing the connections I make. It sounds rather self-involved, I know. Sometimes I don’t like me either, but I’ve learned to get over it since I have to sleep with me every night.
It’s the internet.
I make these connections because that’s how I learn most of the strange information I spout. Wikipedia articles, Tumblr/Twitter tags, mentions in movies, literature, and music. I see something, I go look it up and then find other stuff like it and then go somewhere completely different.
A recent example.
Rubber - (I think it’s a strange movie) - (A strange movie. That makes me think of) The Limits Of Control - Jim Jarmusch - Forest Whitaker (Oh, what was that movie he was in…) - Ghost Dog: The Way Of The Samurai - Hagakure - Samurai - Ninja - Ninja Theory - Enslaved: Odyssey To The West - Journey To The West by Wu Cheng’en - I wish I still had Enslaved. - What was I doing?
You think I’m being funny. No sir, that is how my mind works sometimes. And it bothers the hell out of me.
“There are times, however, and this is one of them, when even being right feels wrong. What do you say, for instance, about a generation that has been taught that rain is poison and sex is death?…If there is in fact, a heaven and a hell, all we know for sure is that hell will be a viciously overcrowded version of Phoenix — a clean well lighted place full of sunshine and bromides and fast cars where almost everybody seems vaguely happy, except those who know in their hearts what is missing… And being driven slowly and quietly into the kind of terminal craziness that comes with finally understanding that the one thing you want is not there. Missing. Back-ordered. No tengo. Vaya con dios.”—Hunter S. Thompson