Why is it that when you write down events that are odd, but really still ordinary, they are imbued with deep, artsy, significant meaning and symbolism? It's a nice power of putting words down, that they make the ordinary seem extraordinary, but sometimes things just happen, they happen to you, to me, and we're just there.
So I went to see The Hedgehog tonight. I've been trying to see it for weeks but haven't been able to because of my crazy schedule. I decided to go to the 9:35 PM showing because I needed to make dark chocolate covered bacon first and I also didn't think I could go home, take out the puppies, get some thing to eat and then get down to the Egyptian for the 7:10 PM showing. So really it was the only logical choice. I was planning on going by myself, but my friend R, whom I haven't seen in a year or more, agreed to go with me when I offhandedly mentioned it to her in an email. So we went. And we both really liked it. And maybe it was seeing an artsy, foreign film in the middle of the night on a weekday, or just the fact that it's something far enough removed from routine, but the drive back home was beautiful. The roads are still wet from the constant raining during the day and the streetlamps make it look like a cross between ice and an oil slick.
And though I'll probably be completely exhausted tomorrow and miserable with wanting to crawl under my desk and sleep, I hope I'll still think it was worth it to step outside the bounds and remember how easy it is to change and do weird things because it's interesting and not think about how crazy it would sound written down.