what a couple of days.

it's very difficult to sum them up but i'll do my best. i just finished watching sleepless in seattle for the first time, a movie that makes me want to grab a small caliber handgun and run through a mall gunning down celine dion fans.

in the movie, a guy loses his wife. after a year and a half he's still single and his son calls a radio show o try and get his dad a new wife. "Sleepless in Seattle," etc. meg ryan's character is engaged to a nice 'perfect guy' who is a little offbeat and funny, and cares for her a lot and loves her and all that bs.

she hears tom hanks on the radio and becomes obsessed with him. the beautiful tragedy of losing his wife and all that jazz. of course, they end up getting together in the end. the comparison is drawn numerous times beween the 'great people' who 'love them' but just aren't "the one." this is determined not by how much they care for each other, or the commitments they've made, or anything like that. it's judged by that cinematic spark; the switch-to-slo-mo zoom-in-on-the-heart-throb school of foreshadowing.

I hate them for glorifying it. I hate them for fueling the things in my heart that I most want to extinguish. I hate myself for watching it. I hate myself for wanting passion and fireworks and sparks and trumpets blowing to show me the moment when true love is there. i hate it, and i hate my own passion. i want to be a normal person for crying out loud, to just do what normal people do and someday settle down and have 2.5 stupid kids and a dog and always see love stories and smile obligingly and say, 'oh... how cute.'

I HATE ME. I HATE THE WAY I AM.

I feel like a complete piece of shit. This whole deal with Alison, then being hit with this double blast from the movies. i want to go out and rent a pile more, watch them all in a row, then collapse and sleep it off like some relational hangover. but that's not going to happen, is it.

the poetry is gone from my words these days and I hate it. i mix equal parts regret and self-loathing; this diary has been one of the only things tat i've made from words in the past year that I could point o proudly and say, 'yes. that's mine.' there were nuggets in it. pearls of language if not thought, and i was happy about that.

Not anymore. it's just the half-asleep, depressed rantings of a geek who wishes people would reject /him/ instead of the other way around, because he could understand that so much easier.

[Eight hours of sleep, and coherency returns]

Mom thinks I'm mad at her for having me watch the movie; I'm not. I'm just mad at myself for letting a movie make me fantasize about falling in love and having it feel like magic. I want to be pragmatic but my heart refuses to go along with the plan.

other than that 'stuff' the weekend wasn't bad. turkey at the scotts, all nighter with Jason. we played fallout and talked about mirrorshades and laughed our heads off at all the in jokes in fallout. the kirkby site is near finished, and i need information from them ... my mind is so scattered that i hardly have the focus to me interesting in my diary.