Give me a room; artificially darkened, one huge projector screen placed at the front, set the surround sound system just perfectly, and let some of my favorite movies play back to back♣
Movies, some which, I have maybe never watched but the stories they peddle still leave me soaked in tears.
Movies like Cold Mountain, Brokeback Mountain, Gone with the Wind, Pursuit of Happyness and The Italian Job (the original one).
And after watching all these, I shall have an hour’s break (secret smile); make myself coffee and French toast as I listen to Corinne Bailey Rae (I really need hers and Joss Stones CDs) or better yet, a mixture of The Corrs, Whitney Houston, some Tupac &Eminem, India Arie and Common.
With a couple of chocolate bars in hand (I can do with some flab, anything to hold onto as I have my meltdowns), a kanga to cover me with,-I shall walk back to my favorite spot of the day/night and I set myself up again for another marathon… this time, I’ll make it as light as the coffee I had been drinking.
Back to back, I will enjoy The Graduate like I have not watched it four times before, laugh harder this timethrough Sunset Boulevard (I highly recommend).
And then maybe I can pick that Mind Your language from where I left it two weeks ago. But what’s a personal movie fest without The Sound of Music (?).
In fact i shall start with that.
But in the meantime, I sit unconfortably; shifting in this chair, moving from place to place (in my mind), reliving moments am trying so hard to hold on to and constantly losing track of time, track of my audience. And hoping that my goodreads patner brings that “all consuming” book she promised.
I need something to take me with it. I need to read some one else’s pain, i need to feel sorry for another person, even a socially unaccepted person,i need to feel their pain. Lord Voldermont (yes, u can say his name here) am ready to hear your struggle, i have heard most there is of Harry Porter’s, now i need to listen to your side of the story, feel your pain too. Your struggle to fit in,to be accepted…
I need to get out of me for once. I need to stop these tears that well up in my head only to stop within my eyes because i dont have the physical energy to shed them.
I need to scream- so loud and so hard- only am not sure about what or why.
Gone without me ever telling her how much i love her. how greatful I am that it is she that raised me…
how i never, even once felt orphaned (seriously) because she was there, always. I could call her mummy, because she was mummy…she got me really pissed sometimes, and so did I her.
But never once did i hate her, and I know she never did hate me. Even when, after so many years of intense training, she was still being told that i cant come up with a decent meal (kids do disappoint parents).
She made me who i am and if i wasnt too sturbon, i would have been so much better because that’s how she raised me… to be the best.
Now i talk to myself about her, i talk to people about her ( i always have – to whoever cared to listen) and never once to her.
I am confused; we are all confused… where is my mummy, where is grandma♥.
Is this what it should feel like, what it should be?! To have no one you can call in a fake angry tone asking why they couldnt remember that ‘today’ was my birthday?
She encouraged me to read (while complaining about the late night light in my room), she and grandad listened to my poetry since i was 13 up until i started dating,and that was very many years (with me, boys and poetry didnt mix).
I could go on, talk about her love for television soaps, movies (some listed above) and music – Tina Turner, The Supremes… you get the mix
oh by the way, she and God were tight… in a good christian kind of way
and now i have to get the hang of the past tense thingy