calming fiction

OK, so I'm all better after that last post, I am.  I actually was able to settle myself through talking to my wife about what exactly may have set me off into the depths of gloom, and it worked, it all made sense.  If not to her, it did to me; to just talk and be heard (I hope I was being heard, let's say I was) worked.

Onward.

I wasn't exactly sure what I'd write sitting down at our computer.  My hands are slightly cold and I'm kind of procrastinating from a good bit.  I have a few projects I could work on, a book that I'd like to finish this year, some stuff to put away, dishes that could be done, oh and that Halloween party invite I drew up to scan and get out to people before the RSVP date (THAT will get done before going to bed).  I think I just needed a few moments to escape into the Royal Tenenbaums soundtrack.

I like to picture myself in a Wes Anderson movie sometimes.  Muted tones enveloping quirky, smartly witty, well-dressed, smoking, troubled individuals.  I'd take a few days ride on the Darjeeling Limited, stroll up to 111 Archer Avenue, sleeping in my eclectically decorated room, after dinner with "Steve-Z".  But for as intensely interesting the worlds he's created are, I never feel rushed by his films.  I always feel well introduced to characters, to places, to the world he's about to have me dive into for the next hour or so.  I think that's why I think I'd feel comfortable in those fictitious places and around those fictitious people.  Or maybe I just prefer fiction to fact, I dunno.

I think we all crave that "other place" and that "other you".  I think we all can even describe it if asked randomly at any given hour of the day.  I also think that if we can incorporate a tad of that in our lives we'd be happier.  It's not that you'd be "aiming high" if you say, decided to grow a beard like tennis great Richie Tenenbaum . . . just don't try to kill yourself after shaving it off.