Have you ever been cross-eyed?
I have. I was around three of four years old when one of my eyes decided it wanted to have a look at my other eye. Being young, it felt like I had been cross-eyed for years, but my mother said it had only been for a few months. I do not have any memories of the things that I did at that age except for the things that had something to do with being cross-eyed, like wearing thick glasses, not going to pre-school, going to the doctor again and again and again, and my operation, particularly being wheeled to the operating room without underwear, inhaling the anesthetic and how blurry the world looked when the bandage was removed. I don’t remember which eye caused all this trouble, but I remember being told that all my suffering stemmed from watching too much television.
And I didn’t learn. My hobby of late has been watching movies. I don’t have the time to go to a movie theater, so I hardly ever go there. But for some strange reason I do have time to travel across the city to Chinatown and spend hours looking for videos of my favorite actors. Then, like the child that I was I watch and watch and watch these movies, ignoring schedules, commitments, and better judgment. So far, watching all these movies has not impaired my eyesight in any way. However I’m convinced that the movies are tying knots in my brain. Credits roll as a psyche drops. I wish it were someone else’s, but I know that old bag anywhere.
Why else would I have so much to regret in life?
Movies are tricky. The viewer is privy to the thoughts of every character encountered. In particularly distressing scenes involving secrets where everything would be resolved in seconds if only someone told the truth, I would have to hold myself down to keep me from yelling, say it! These kinds of movies have created in me a feeling that, in my own life, a lot of things would have resolved themselves if only someone had the courage to speak up. Add a rainy day, and then you have regret.
Add the internet and then you have a blog.
I want to store in these pages the elements of a self-inflicted drama that I want to remove from deep inside me. I promise myself to write every thing that carries a hatchet in my head. I will live my life, and then remove the things I have written when I heal.
If there’s anything good that came out of being cross-eyed it would have to be the discovery that just when you think things will get worse and worse, you get better.
(now if time would cooperate I would have my happy endings)
Posted at 10:24 pm by
limmy
