so with the boy gone for a week, i decided i should catch up on the few ridiculous girlie movies that he need not be subjected to – top on the list Twilight & New Moon.
as you groan, i’ll back up and say that i unapologetically consumed these books like the pixie-stick-caliber brain candy that they are before there were ever movies. i can say with authority that my self-respecting, english-major, adult woman-self can’t find any merit in them from a literary standpoint, and i’m pretty sure i wouldn’t want my nieces reading them prior to their 30s 🙂
but those 4 books were like crack. once i started reading, i didn’t want to stop. my inner 14 year old took over, reveled in the awkward girl getting the hot boy, laughed out loud at the banter-y dialog that none of were capable of at 17, and i thoroughly enjoyed reading them. as someone who rarely makes time to read purely frivolous books, this series was a flashback to young days of accidentally reading until 3am because i just couldn’t stop.
but i could never put my finger on exactly what part of my psyche it was triggering. i just knew i couldn’t resist.
so i queued up the movies. 30 minutes into Twilight, i found myself thinking…my god, this acting is excruciating – if edward were any more stiff, he’d be dead…..(HAH).
and by the end of the movie, (at midnight on a night when i needed to be on a 7am meeting), i was appalled to feel myself melting, thinking edward had a such an exotic hotness. seriously?? wtf, belen?
the next night, at 11pm after a lovely dinner and night of gaming with our friends on the island, i couldn’t stop myself from putting in New Moon. and i couldn’t even feel offended by the acting…i just wanted to feel the raw, pulsing emotion of bella’s loss, jacob’s goodness, the hopelessness of it all…
and then i went to bed. and spent all night dreaming the angst-y, chest-tight, stomach-fluttery-and-twisted, happiness-mixed-irrevocably-with-sadness memories/dreams that were my late teens and early twenties.
and i woke up fully comprehending what part of my psyche these books tap into. and more than a little shocked at how easy it for them to reset my brain to FEED on that mental place. i found myself wanting to turn on sarah mclachlan or tori’s little earthquakes and spend the day reading old journals and just rolling around in the feeling…to remember what it was like to want something so badly it shredded & consumed you, but knowing you couldn’t or shouldn’t have it…want it…do it.
which, frankly, is just perplexing.
clearly, i have figured out how to be a very happy, content adult, who makes healthy, good choices and has figured out how not to indulge in self-destructive tendencies. and its deliriously nice!
and i’m glad i can still reach out and stroke the hurt, malformed, pokey bits of my psyche – love them, understand them, accept them, thank them for giving me the insight and compassion i have for those emotions in people i meet.
but it’s pretty amazing to me that even today, those parts of me still want to grab my with both hands and hold me underwater. how GOOD it feels to give myself over to them and exist in that drowning-in-the-intensity-of-my-pain-pleasure feeling.
clearly, the goth in me is strong, even if she looks, lives and loves more like a hippie 😉
fortunately, i can sip my coffee while looking out the huge windows at big pine trees and know that those dreams…this ennui…can be soothed away by walking down to the Farm Days event at the historical farm, chatting with caring, friendly people in my community, putting my hands in the dirt to transplant seedlings who are growing big and strong, enjoying experimenting with a tasty little dinner for myself tonight…a million little dimensions of my life that nurture my happiness, rather than feeding my pain.
happiness is a choice. mornings like this are here to remind me of that.
x-posted to facebook