This morning was rough. No, I'm not hung over or haven't climbed any mountains; I just haven't woken up well. Maybe I'm getting a touch of a cold (allergies or a real cold, I don't know) or something, but damn it was hard to get moving this morning.
When I was a senior in high school, we had to do those goofy things for the yearbook like write our own epitaphs (a really creepy exercise, by the way), write our philosophies of life, give a favorite quote, or write a mantra.
I generally pay attention to people's body language in conversations. Sometimes the distracting little habits show up and I can't help but notice, like the "smiling but saying mean things" conversations.
So, I've been thinking a lot about agendas. Sometimes it seems like every person I run into has an agenda for me. Why is it so hard to carve out my own space where I can choose to respond or not to invitations instead of feeling judged for my choices or lack thereof.
After I saw Django on Christmas night, I got to thinking about how it compared with other Tarantino movies. What hit me was how the theme of freedom or liberation runs through them, and as the mark of good art, how much could be said about any of them.
I am always torn, this time of year, between the memory and joy that accompanies Christmas and the sadness that there are so many unfulfilled hopes. This year it is worse. The shooting in Newtown, Connecticut, has floored us all.
Once I had a roommate whose idea of getting ready for the holidays was to watch all three movies in the Godfather Trilogy. There was not enough pot in the world to lighten the mood he ended up in, though he tested the possibility thoroughly.