We got back from the movies at midnight last night. The movie was intense, but I am glad I saw it. I wouldn't see it again, though. I liked the characterization, I thought that was a key to film. I especially liked the "Butcher". He was a bit mad, but very energetic and full of wild flare. I couldn't watch all the knife-fights, I have a thing against jabbing a naked blade into someone's flesh...but when the soldiers shot down rows of rioters and bullets tore through the air and masses - that I could handle. I think the scene that got me the most - other than the great opener - was when the childhood buddy of the Priest's son died - or was killed, I guess. He was so naive compared to the rest and didn't stand much of a chance - kinda like me. ;_;
I slept all right in spite of my anxiety but had odd dreams of museums and messages and fellow students and even black riders. Yeah, I dreamt that I had to deliver something to a young lady accross the street, and I was smuggling it in a bag of chex mix so the black rider who ambushed me (not on horseback at the time) didn't find it. Then I was on some march and we were getting bombed and I was just like get me outta here I quit! I must stop my weirdo daydreamings which I have kept up for so many years. Matt says my eyes unfocus and glaze over..too many years of pained daydreams on school buses. I still see the weeping child inside me when I settle down to sleep - it still hasn't gone away and weeps for my lost innocence (even before I ever lost it). Nostalgia is just a burden.
But Nichole said something interesting on the way home. She claims that being guilty is bad. Ok, it is not cost-efficient, but in small amounts is a good thing - a tempering thing. It keeps me sensative and thoughtful and sincere. I do agree I am a little over-indulgent in my guilt though. Runs very very strong in my blood. Maybe that is why I never stand up for myself, and sometimes hate myself so strongly? Just a thought. But guilt can eat one alive, yes. Ok, maybe it is not guilt that I am defending as much as sensativity. But with sensativity comes guilt, and pain. Why am I so sensative to some things, and in everything else so insensative and unmoved and require daydreaming and obsessions to feel any sort of emotional stimulation whatsoever? I can be so dead to all the world yet so loud and lively. I am a person of double-think in action. Everything I do I seem to counteract somehow. Some way to live, eh? But I love it ^_^ It keeps me sane and interested in life.