I just finished watching an oddball film courtesy of the mind of Charlie Kaufman: Synecdoche, New York. I can't say that I'd recommend it but I will say it made me laugh in some unexpected places and scratch my head. It had a lot of quirk going for it but not enough to be completely satisfying.
One of my favourite parts was when the priest character had this to say:
Everything is more complicated than you think. You only see a tenth of what is true. There are a million little strings attached to every choice you make; you can destroy your life every time you choose. But maybe you won't know for twenty years. And you'll never ever trace it to its source. And you only get one chance to play it out. Just try and figure out your own divorce.
And they say there is no fate, but there is: it's what you create. Even though the world goes on for eons and eons, you are here for a fraction of a fraction of a second. Most of your time is spent being dead or not yet born. But while alive, you wait in vain, wasting years, for a phone call or a letter or a look from someone or something to make it all right. And it never comes or it seems to but doesn't really.
And so you spend your time in vague regret or vaguer hope for something good to come along. Something to make you feel connected, to make you feel whole, to make you feel loved. And the truth is I'm so angry and the truth is I'm so fucking sad, and the truth is I've been so fucking hurt for so fucking long and for just as long have been pretending I'm OK, just to get along, just for, I don't know why, maybe because no one wants to hear about my misery, because they have their own, and their own is too overwhelming to allow them to listen to or care about mine. Well, fuck everybody. Amen.
While perhaps designed to lead me to the razor's edge, it had quite the opposite effect. It made me smirk and realize how true it is that we all shuffle around when maybe we should be out picking up speed and trying new experiences on for size. You know by speed, I meant the drug right?