Well, I've got some bad news for you, sunshine. This is nothing more than a meandering expulsion of my illogical thought process. Feel free to walk out now; your ticket fee will be refunded at the door. I was just thinking about how much we need to entertain ourselves with stories and movies and songs. Most of which are about people we'll never meet or act remotely like. Yet we strive to connect ourselves with them, to liken ourselves unto the heroes of our fictitious pass times. I do, at least, it's much like . . . (wait for it!) . . . daydreaming!
Well, I've beaten that dead horse already. I find it interesting, though, how we get caught up in the drama of stories well told. I'm sure there's a super good explanation for this, and if I were a professor of the humanities, I'd be able to rattle it right off. But, as it's been well over half a decade since I had that class, I'm in the dark. Somewhat.
I think it has something to do with wishing for truth and passion in our own lives to rival that which we find in story and song. Truth and passion to lend vibrance and meaning to our existence, to make our everyday struggles and suffering more worthwhile. Therefore, we distract ourselves with these things, living vicariously through our favorite characters. And I'm definately not speaking about those of you who waste your time supporting america's obsession with reality tv. You sick, perverted people make me weep for society!
So, go out and find a beautiful book, song, or movie. Enjoy it! Relate it to your life and live fuller. Get drunk!
I do not envy you the headache you will have when you wake, but in the meantime, sleep well and dream of large women.
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