Why, oh why, must Spencer hop in the shower with me? Cats are not
supposed to like water, are they? Madi likes to survey the tub after
someone has showered, but Spence gets right in, under the spray and everything. Oimoi
and I saw Hero
last night. I really enjoyed it, although I anticipate that lots of right-wing pro-war comparisons are being made between Bush and the Emperor of the Qin dynasty. Rather unfortunate timing. At first, I wasn't sure about the very strong color schemes used in the film, but then I decided that it's brilliant. As a long-time fan of Fong Sai-Yuk and old kung fu movies, it was fabulous to see Jet Li doing something other than the American movies he's been making here (which have without fail disappointed me). Speaking of disappointments, we saw the movie at Oakridge Mall. Walking past Hot Topic
is always bizarre; as Dennis puts it, it's jarring to see "the commercialization of our childhoods" capsulized in a chain store. You may be able to market black jelly bracelets, Dickies, Manic Panic hair dye and Wet 'n Wild lipstick #508 to today's disaffected youth, but you can't sell punk rock, damn it. Yeah, we're old skool.
I've had a lovely feeling of well-being this past week or so. Perhaps it's due to school starting again. I'm not sure, but I'm enjoying it. I'm still a little sad about the past year, and all the changes and challenges we've been through. I don't object to change per se
, but it's very difficult to revamp your both your daily life and your long-term plans without facing some disturbing questions regarding the nature of the self. When B and I decided that— despite our deep love and affection for each other—we could not be lifepartners, it was honestly done with each other's best interests in mind. I truly thought that we would continue to be there for each other, as real friends, perhaps even as sometime lovers. After nine years of happiness together, I thought it couldn't be otherwise. But after a brief period of 'weaning' (for lack of a better term), he forged such distance between us that my head still reels to think of it. Now I don't know who he is.
But I miss him. The 'him' I knew, the one that loved me and held my love dear, the one whose strengths and whose very weaknesses I adored. The one who said I'd better hurry up and finish school so that we could adopt chinky babies together. The person whose family adopted me as their own, the one I held when disease incited his body to mutiny (we were so frightened we'd be parted by his early death), and the one who booby-trapped my suitcases with stuffed monkeys when I went to conferences. That's how my heart works, and eight months later, I still don't know how to undo it. I'm grateful for my recent sense of well-being, but I'm confused that it hasn't lessened this other ache.