I am Your Sunshine

This is the third movie I watched in a row in the past three days. The other two were Death Becomes Her and Big Sleep, a classic black comedy and a classic hard-boild adaptation starring Lauren Bacall and Humphrey Bogart. I’ve been waiting to watch Kissing Jessica Stein for quite a while and finally got around to it.

On the road of finding what we really want for life, we make mistakes and we make friends as well. I guess it’s a beautiful angle to look at life. Yes, we get hurt and sometimes hurt others. Things won’t necessarily turn out the way we anticipate. We refuse to accept it. We try to hold on to it. Futileness overwhelms us. You know it’s not the end of the world, but it sure feels so to you. You know about the silver linen; it’s just hard to comprehend when all you can see is doubtfulness. But everything’s gonna be okay. Everything’s gonna be fine. =)

Jessica: We have nothing in common. You don’t appreciate the chaos and absurdity of life. You don’t understand irony, or ethnicity, or the eccentricity of poetry, or the simple joy of being a regular at the diner on your block – I love that. You don’t drink coffee or alcohol, you don’t cry when you’re alone, you don’t understand sarcasm. You plod through life in a colorless, caffeine free, dairy free, conflict free, banal, self-possessed way.

I’m bold and angry and tortured and tremendous and I notice when somebody’s changed their hair part, when someone is wearing two very distinctly different shades of black or when someone changes the natural tammer of their voice on the phone. I don’t give out empty praise. I’m not complacent, or well adjusted. I can’t spend 50 minutes breathing and stretching and getting in touch with myself; I can’t even spend 3 minutes finishing an article. I check my phone machine nine times every day and I can’t sleep at night because I feel that there’s so much to do and change in the world – and I wonder every day if I’m making a difference, and if I will ever express the greatness within me, or if I will remain forever paralyzed by the muddled madness inside my head.

I’ve wept at every birthday I’ve ever had because life is huge and fleeting; and I hate certain people in certain shoes. And I feel that life is terribly unfair – and sometimes beautiful and wonderful and extraordinary, and also numbing and horrifying and insurmountable. And I hate myself a lot of the time; the rest of the time I adore myself and I adore my life in this city and in this world that we live in – this huge and wondrous, bewildering and brilliant…yet horrible world.