I’m watching this show, Normal People, and it’s extremely dramatic and emo, and the characters move kind of slow, except that slow isn’t
the right word. I guess they just take time to think. They say things that seem kind of profound, in a way? Or maybe it’s just the way they’re
saying the things.
I guess the production has brought a kind of melancholy to my day. I feel lethargic in a way that makes my bones feel heavy,
like I’m unable to take my arms off the table, and I have trouble moving my fingers forward to type.
Does that mean it’s well made? Or that the production as a whole has achieved its goal of being ‘great’? That it has affected me, so?
Or does that say more about me? That the content of a show has so great an influence on me, that I can act in a completely
different way, allowing the aesthetic to bleed into my life, and modify the way I see and do and say things.
I simultaneously love and hate it. I love finding a piece of work that is done so well I am completely wrapped up in it.
I love when something is so good to me that I can lose myself in it for hours. But at the same time, I feel very vulnerable to the world.
Like I’m opening myself up to what I don’t have and trying to fill the empty spaces with fictional things.
A love story. A purpose. A soul mate. A connection.
In my head I’m in a space in Ireland, and the camera is doing an extreme close up, using a macro lens to focus on my eyelashes,
where a portion of my face takes up the screen, and I’m saying these things and using words that I wouldn’t normally use,
and I’m being introspective, and I’m saying something that matters.
In reality, I’m sitting at a desk at work, in a room with no windows, writing instead of doing the work I’m currently being paid to do.
I’m dreaming about being in a place that doesn’t exist. I’m in garish green scrubs, and just burped because I’m drinking diet coke.
My hair is in a messy bun, but not the kind that is cute, and it’s greasy, and I’m alone.
I’m feeling lonely, but there’s no one I can call. I want to talk to someone who knows me.
I want to talk to someone and tell them how much I love them, and have them tell me how much they love me.
I want the drama of love, and I want the drama of real-life to consume me, like a creative work of art does.
Instead, I’m stuck in real life. Which is fine, because it’s real, and that’s all it’ll ever be.
…
...but that’s all it’ll ever be.
