I've been thinking that I really should blog about an important and troubling topic. But it was not quite important or troubling enough to actually make me put skin to key.
So in the meantime, I offer you this random memory from about twenty years ago which struck me this morning as I crossed at a pedestrian crossing (pedestrian!? It was dull as dish-water!):
As a teenager I was watching a war movie one night, one of those harrowing Russian front affairs full of the futility and brutality of armed conflict, an anti-war classic (but not so classic that I can actually remember what it was called). By the end, I was practically sobbing, my chest heaving, my eyes thick with pain. My God! I thought to my young self. My God! (Because I was and am a repetitious creature, a repetitious creature) What a sophisticated and emotionally deep person I am! So visceral has been my disgust at the idea of war that I'm having an *almost* physical reaction to it. Am I sensitive or what?
And then full-blown flu symptoms appeared the next morning...
But, you know, I really am very sensitive.
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1 comment:
That pretty much mirrors the female experience each month where you find yourself sobbing your heart out over a Huggies ad or going completely and utterly postal because your husband bought "Vanilla Extract" and not "Vanilla Essence" at the shops - and then, voila!, the next day you're raisin' the Japanese flag.
Except I prefer not to count that hormone-enhanced state as bearing any resemblance to the Real Me.
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