Dec 20, 2004

I'm sorry. I don't speak monkey.

If I ever need any reminder as to why I have developed the distinguishing characteristics of a recluse, all I must do is take a little trip out to the shopping mall. Crossing over from the parking lot to the movie theatre entrance last night, I was nearly plowed over by a large black GMC blasting The Crystal Method and traveling a good 30 mph in a 5 mph zone. Good music, but no music is particularly enjoyable when you're wedged under someone's super boggers. I would have had more than a few witnesses, certainly, for a dozen or so humans were congregated outside the theater, few of them not chattering noisily. I pushed my way through the mall entrance door, making eye contact with absolutely no one, and made a beeline for the theater box office. I was on a mission to see Lemony Snicket's A Series of Unfortunate Events. It had been a good many months since I had last been to a movie theatre, primarily because it galls me to shell over $8, and sitting in a theatre where there is -always- by some international standard at least one unsettled baby and a trio or quartet of noisy punkrawk teenagers present is only something I can bear every once in a while. Somehow, my conscience just wouldn't allow me to fork over another $5 for a bag of popcorn. That is why I love you! And criminally over-inflated prices explains why I purchase a bag of Reese's Pieces at 7-11 for 97 cents instead of buying a box of the very same size at the concession stand for $3.

The audience for this particular showing was tolerable. As for the movie, well... the movie was simply fantastic. I shall drop no spoilers, as I urge anyone who has not seen it to please go do so. The previews for the film are worthless, and certainly nothing to judge it by. Jim Carrey is a delight, and the all-encompassing range of his acting talent is vividly expressed in this work. The plot, and so many of the overlying and underlying themes, are fabulously twisted, a la Alice in Wonderland, and the characters wonderfully eccentric in the flavour of the Addams Family. Anything remotely resembling the Addams Family, after all, cannot be all bad. By no means is this a "kid's movie." It's kid-safe, but adults will probably enjoy it at least as much, if not more, than children.

Only when I actually exited the theatre did I really experience a problem. Even at 9:30 in the evening, humans were everywhere around me as I walked briskly toward the glass separating me from the outdoors. I almost felt as if they were closing in on me. The echoes of their mindless chatter bounced off the walls and rang into my ears, nearly deafening me and rapidly driving me into a state of infuriation. I could feel someone staring at me, but I did not wish to turn my head to glare at them and make them look away. I needed to keep my eyes on the exit and concentrate on leaving. My heartrate had increased dramatically, I had developed a tight knot at the base of my throat that made it difficult to swallow, and I was beginning to sweat. As soon as I burst through those glass doors and got my first breath of fresh air, having escaped from that confined area of unpleasantly curious human odours and cacophonous noise, I was all right again. Yes, I had experienced the classic sociophobic panic attack. I am not sure what directly triggered it, because I have not had one in quite awhile. As much as I do not care for crowds, I usually do relatively fine in them. Not the case last night. I somewhat suspect it might have something to do with the movie ... perhaps an epileptic aftershock due to all the brilliant, fast-moving images my brain had just absorbed. The only catch is I have never known myself to be epileptic. I then cruised down to one of my favorite spots along the coast, an area reachable only by strolling half a mile through lush rainforest on a lovely path. I'd never seen anyone down there, and the same was true of last night. As I gazed out over the eternal aqueous blackness before me, nothing above my head but the star-ridden sky and not a known human soul within listening distance, I realized I was truly all right again. I know exactly where I belong.

I am not presently feeling too well. Perhaps it's because I just spent what feels like hours dreaming of cramming for huge exams, something I was actually doing just a week ago. Similar to what I did in this world, I glazed over hundreds of pages of text just to absorb as much knowledge as I could, feeling under incredible pressure. The last thing I needed was such a realistic sub-conscious recap of the entire deal, but that is exactly what I went through, and I feel utterly mentally exhausted again. Hopefully, this feeling will just fade away before long. Two of the classes I need to register for next semester are already filled, meaning I have to go through the waiver process again. Delightful. Course registration can never be completely straightforward. No lab or math courses on this go-around, just lots and lots of geography and an english course. I'm thrilled. Two or three more semesters and I should be graduating, depending on how many of my previous credits transfer.

Anyway, the holidays are here, so I am going back home to the country for a week or so to escape from the commotion, and attempt to absorb some of the spirit of Christmas ... maybe. My dingy apartment certainly shows no signs of the annual occasion, but once I'm home and my muzzle catches the aroma of the Christmas tree in the living room and the generous assortment of holiday cookies laid about the expansive kitchen counters, I'll know. I'll hear the snipping of scissors and rustling of wrapping paper, see the bright coloured holiday lights adorning the entire house, and observe hanging from the tree ornaments I have known my entire life; those that have hung from every tree we have had in the past sixteen years or even further back then my memory extends. Any deviation from the routine, the lamentable ordinary, is always welcomed... and I always have been one to embrace every opportunity for a nostalgic moment. -- Not much yet, but I figured a photoblog journal would be a good thing to have lying around.

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