A visit with family is a silent huddle around the television. I can't watch TV anymore. I don't understand how I used to waste so much time staring at bad drama. It's always the same thing every week - the set-up, the triangles, intense music, obvious jokes, and all packaged neatly with a summating narration. Am I losing my attention span or just becoming increasingly pretentious? I am losing the ability to interact not only with my television but with my peers, my family, everyone. (Okay that's not exactly new, but it's getting worse.) I have shut down. I am cold. How do I maintain social humility with my increasingly high personal expectations? I can't find commonality. I have nothing to add to the everyday. I stick out in silence as much as I would in speech.
Who could put up with me?
My interests are becoming increasingly specialized and I'm worried about the direction they're taking me. If I continue to pursue film in my current velocity of recreational torpor, never gaining the momentum I delude my ambition with, then where will that leave me say, fifteen years from now?
My fear took visual form a couple of months ago during the intermission of an Out1:Spectre screening. I was already panicked that day for other reasons and although the film provided some level of escapism, its conspiracy-driven tone probably didn't help my mood. As I sat there in my seat, waiting for the second half of the film to start, I noticed a group of men in their forties near the front of the theater, standing up to stretch their legs and talking to one another. They were spaced randomly enough among the rows to imply that they each showed up alone, but nevertheless seemed to know one another. The theater was still nearly empty and I could over-hear their conversation. One stated that he had seen the film three times. Another, in an obvious attempt to trump the first, stated that he had seen it a few times before as well and one of those occasions was in Paris. The others made similar statements, all in the same increasingly snide tones. The conversation continued in this boasting fashion until I suddenly got the image of Seymour's record party in the film Ghost World; they even looked as if they were straight out of the film. Was this my future - ostentatiously vaunting, putting more weight on the number of times I've seen a film than on the film itself? I can only imagine the eye-rolls I'd get for being a first-timer. I felt sick. I curled up into a ball, my head resting on my knees, my arms wrapped around my shins, and gently rocked in my chair, trying to tune them out until the film started up again.
All this absorption without outlet will wilt me decadent and shallow.
Who could put up with me?
My interests are becoming increasingly specialized and I'm worried about the direction they're taking me. If I continue to pursue film in my current velocity of recreational torpor, never gaining the momentum I delude my ambition with, then where will that leave me say, fifteen years from now?
My fear took visual form a couple of months ago during the intermission of an Out1:Spectre screening. I was already panicked that day for other reasons and although the film provided some level of escapism, its conspiracy-driven tone probably didn't help my mood. As I sat there in my seat, waiting for the second half of the film to start, I noticed a group of men in their forties near the front of the theater, standing up to stretch their legs and talking to one another. They were spaced randomly enough among the rows to imply that they each showed up alone, but nevertheless seemed to know one another. The theater was still nearly empty and I could over-hear their conversation. One stated that he had seen the film three times. Another, in an obvious attempt to trump the first, stated that he had seen it a few times before as well and one of those occasions was in Paris. The others made similar statements, all in the same increasingly snide tones. The conversation continued in this boasting fashion until I suddenly got the image of Seymour's record party in the film Ghost World; they even looked as if they were straight out of the film. Was this my future - ostentatiously vaunting, putting more weight on the number of times I've seen a film than on the film itself? I can only imagine the eye-rolls I'd get for being a first-timer. I felt sick. I curled up into a ball, my head resting on my knees, my arms wrapped around my shins, and gently rocked in my chair, trying to tune them out until the film started up again.
All this absorption without outlet will wilt me decadent and shallow.
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