Oh yeah! I will always go for that. If the boys are gone, that means one of two things: Either something rated R that I don't want them to see, or a chick flick that they don't want to see. I was leaning toward the former until about halfway through the long drive home from dropping them off.
Driving along the coast, I was mesmerized by a duet of other-worldly light: a rising moon preening for her penumbral eclipse and a setting sun singing colorful strains deep, deep into the shimmering waters... their combined illumination providing seamless saturation. It was one of those deeply personal moments that feels too big to experience alone... and I knew who I wanted to share it with. But no! That would not be appropriate... yet there was no one else on the earth whom I could imagine understanding, who could hold me without distracting, who could sing along without opening his mouth. "Don't go there," I chided myself, too late. That was the moment I knew what the evening's movie would be: I would torture myself with truth and watch Becoming Jane again.
The first time I watched that movie, I bawled my eyes out and then blogged, but this time I did not cry--not at all. I guess I was prepared for the journey that was necessary--the reality of doing what one must do--of two separate entities doing what they individually must do, be it for the greater good of society or family or whatever, for propriety, for nobility... in spite of the seeming perfection of their fleeting harmony, doing the right thing.
Maybe it does get easier. Or am I just becoming numb?
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Maybe I'm not hurting that much, not because I'm growing or becoming, but rather because I'm stagnant, safe.
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