Break did not start off particularly well: my cell phone died resulting in three hours in the Verizon store, $95 down the tube, and me getting cut off my mom’s cell phone plan. As I went to bed after writing down the 60 or so numbers in my old half-functional phone, I kept telling myself that it had to get better than this. Not another horrible Thanksgiving, please.
Luckily, the gods fo fortune decided to shower down upon me day after day of goodness. This felicitous trend, while pleasant in the short run, is merely a bit of an escape from my ordinary existence, but I figure that I deserve a bit of the fantastic every now and then. This has been especially evidenced by a recent predeliction for pseudo-historical epics. I finished the 6th Harry Potter this weekend, a tear or two trickling down at the death of Dumbledore. Every time, I’m surprised how addicted I get to the story. Then, in a moment of perhaps questionable judgement, I decided to watch Braveheart on TV starting at 11:00 last night. That didn’t end until 3:00 am, when I was feeling rather melancholic and in need of a Mel-Gibson-esque hero to pick me up. Unfortunately, those don’t exist, so I bitched to C. for an hour or two until I could hardly keep myself awake.
It felt good to finally articulate some of my fears about the next few months, and come up with a game plan. The events of the summer have not quite left the corners of my mind yet, and talk of “committment” and “future” and “us” makes me pretty nervous. Moving across the country is a huge decision to make, and I don’t want to make it solely based on one person. I want it to be my decision too, but it’s a weighty one to make. The problem is that I haven’t got anywhere else to go. I don’t have a job offer anywhere, a place to go to school yet, or any feasible travel destination. I’m feeling trapped, in a bit of a corner, and starting to get skittish.
So I took another escape today. Russel Crowe this time, in all his Roman macho-ness. Really, I didn’t plan on it being medieval epic weekend. Sitting by my computer with a half-finished scarf from two years ago slowly growing as my needles clicked, I felt much better. My hot new purple shoes from DSW didn’t hurt either.
Then in indulgence of truly epic nature, I baked the half assembled pecan pie that was meant for Thanksgiving (we got too full on turkey with mole, black bean tamales, chili-orange sweet potatoes, and cranberry sauce to eat it). I dressed myself up in a skirt and my new heels, grabbed a rolling pin and some flour, then got to work. If I want to bake in heels, who’s going to stop me? Not you, that’s who! After congratulating the crazies next door on their fresh Publix christmas tree, I invited them over for some gooey sweet pie with spiked whipped cream.
I’m not sure what it is that draws me into fiction so often. Every weekend can’t be like this: reading, movies, eating, cooking, and shopping, but sometimes it’s nice to get away from the normal. The trouble is it’s just so hard to go back on Monday. =)
I might as well just concede defeat to these guilty pleasures. At least it helps for a while. As the ever sagacious Shins tell us:
Of course I was raised to
Gather courage from those
Lofty tales so tried and true.
If you’re able, I suggest it
‘Cause modern thought
Can get the best of you.
So warriors and gladiators, bourbon-pecan and chocolate, pink yarn and purple suede, you help this cruel modern thought from getting the best of me.