the snow coming at the car. the white fuzz. the light years I was traveling. The road to insanity is what it felt like. A dark trance on the highway. The wipers dark bone arms. We watched 127 hours and a row of students were speaking the entire time. Even shushed, they wouldn’t shut up. Who goes to a movie to talk through the whole thing? I turned around. shushed. I was livid. And the movie made me want to cry and it made me feel crazy, like I was out alone stuck under a rock for 5 days, too. I felt his nerves and sweat and I was shaking in my legs. When you’re in the midst of writing something, something hard for you and your skin is wide open DON’T GO SEE THIS MOVIE. As good as it was and it was intense, too intense for me right now maybe. The wind when we opened the door to leave, the wind was so cold, blowing the snow around like garbage. It was just as dark on the way home. I felt the nerves in my arms clinging to the lead weight steering wheel. Watch out for black ice, pat said earlier and that’s all I felt. I was driving on ice the whole way home.
It's slippery out there
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2 responses to “It's slippery out there”
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Dear Rachel
I haven’t had the fortitude – the steel – to see 127 hours yet. I think when I do go I will ask my two sons to accompany me. I’m no good at driving on ice at the best of times. . . it sounds as though the film’s 5 days linger for ages afterwards. Brave woman. xo-
Yes, take your sons and heavy armor. It was a great movie, though. Certainly spotlights what’s important. We went to a late movie and I had strange, choppy dreams. It does linger. Long after.
It made me wonder how actors do it. Stay in a role for so long, become someone else. I think writers are actors who don’t like to be on stage. We have to trigger the same methods perhaps to get into a character. But I haven’t yet delved into a project like that yet. But I do wonder perhaps if writers and actors have the same methods for coming back to themselves. I heard an interview on NPR with James Franco and he said he kept sane because he was in school at the time and he had his books and his studies. That was his out. His reality.
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