Looking back, as usual

I am such a sucker for nostalgia. It amazes me in a lot of ways. Mainly in the way that, as I am making all these memories, I think nothing of them. But then, when I get in that mood - that warm, excited mood that comes with reliving the good parts of my past - they all flood back in a kind of sepia-tinted rush. Memories and colors fill my head andI feel a very particular sensation of good old times.

I was looking through my folder of saved e-mail correspondences, and I found one I kept in 2004 with a guy who read my blog. I was taking Latin over the summer at Berkeley, and I think I linked to his site, having followed the bread crumbs of other ATDP (Berkeley's Academic Talent Development Program) blogs to find it. He was very encouraging, complimenting me on my maturity and writing style, which sounds so child molesty and suspicious, but it was completely harmless. We definitely had similar ways of thinking, and it interests me so much to look back at the person I was when writing those e-mails back and forth, and to think about how much he has probably changed too. (I don't read his members-only blog anymore, for fear of finding a less idealized version of him than the one I knew back then through our e-mails. Silly, I know.)

Knowing this fixation on my own pathetic autobiography is so present worries me a little. Maybe I'm too stuck in the past. The present certainly never seems like much while I'm living it.

...Well, that's not entirely what I mean.

What I mean is that, while I'm in the present, I feel like I'm not accomplishing anything. And that is a very pessimistic, very me way of seeing things. Because surely I am accomplishing things all the time. I won't try to instill this reflection with any silly, self-comforting pride, but things do happen in my life, and whether they are huge, impressive awards or epiphanies or not, they are part of my progressing life. I don't need to feel held back or unaccomplished just because I am not making the great strides that others take pride in.

This may be turning into a grand glorification of laziness.

I guess the thing that this all relates to is Paris, Je T'Aime. I watched it for the first time today, and I felt a strange connection with the woman in the short film about falling in love with Paris. She speaks French with sort of an endearingly terrible accent and is quite a simple person, all things said and done. And all she wants is someone to share things with, someone to share Paris with. She doesn't find someone in the five minutes of the film; it's not really that kind of optimism. The optimism of the short film though, comes at the end, when she realizes, sitting alone on a bench eating a sandwich in a comfortably busy park, that she and Paris are falling in love. That's the kind of person I think I am.

I Am Angel Deverell...

So yesterday I went to see Angel, and it was kind of good that I didn't make it into a date of any kind, but I liked it. The over-the-top satirical romance was a little aggravating at times, but what I really enjoyed about the movie were the assorted moments where color, music and mood rushed together to create beautiful, comfortably almost-nostalgic images for my romantic appreciation. I'm not sure how to better describe them, but they took me back to more innocent days of idealized love that I'd created in my head, in settings built solely for the depiction of that dream. I suppose I really need an escape, lately, and Angel was good for that.

Now, however, I am back to procrastinating work and waking up guilty and stressed about my mess of a life.

Early Christmas Spirit

This weekend, I successfully got myself in over my head with Christmas mood preparyness. My friend C and I ate her homemade (vegan!) apple-peach pie, soy chocolate ice cream, warm apple cider with a hint of cinnamon, and delighted in the Christmas joy that is Love Actually. Can I just say that that movie brings out the romantic in me? It does. Not only because Karl is immeasurably beautiful, but because the stories are all around pretty romantic and sweet. Except the ones that are heartbreaking. But you know.

I have been singing "All I Want For Christmas Is You" like a broken record, and it is finally getting pretty cold outside, so guess what guys! CHRISTMAS IS COMING!! But don't tell that to my pessimistic friend from Human Development class, who insists that this crazy thing called Thanksgiving has to come first. WHATEVER, Thanksgiving. I mock you and your birds and your corn and your thanks. Christmas will not be defeated.

This weekend, a friend from home is coming to visit, and I am planning to drag her out to Brooklyn so we can see Angel, an allegedly riotously sappy, romantic movie. There is snow in the poster photo, and that makes me happy. I just wish I had someone romantical to go with me to see it on a date. Yes a date. I have never dated in my life. But that would be a cute date and I would get us lost in deep dark Brooklyn but we would find a cozy little cafe with hardwood floors and crimson couches and smile at each other a lot, and kisses would probably be involved.