And so what was once called by a medical professional, to the delight of my closest friends, my "general malaise" has bogged me down and boggled me for 30-plus years, at varying intensity levels, exacerbated and/or salved at different points by the situational, hormonal, and medicinal.
For the past few years—traced back to just before the Hurricane Sandy maelstrom of late 2012; spurred by the nefarious relentlessness of shaky finances, career insecurity, and marital discord; and culminating in Election 2016—I've especially felt that unmistakable steel-toed concrete boot pressing down on my chest and asphyxiating me whilst a steel vise crushes my brain, makes deals with my sanity, and turns my sometimes brown–sometimes titian tresses a steely gray. All of this steeling/stealing *should* make me feel practically bionic! Instead, it often just renders me incredibly tired, unmotivated, and unable to get out of bed except out of sheer necessity. Not all of the time, and sometimes, thankfully, not for long stretches, but enough that it's irritating.
What helps me most of all during the downturns (and keeps my upswings very much upswingy) are the sweet hugs of my children, a limited regimen of somewhat unhealthy but mostly legal vices, and a more liberal dose of healthier escapism—namely, lots of reading, music, and movies. Lately I've added photography into the mix. It's hard for me to concentrate on words during the spirals, and so the other three have become my recent go-to.
Anyway, as Oscars season approaches, here's my brain dump on the movies part, to be regularly updated. I also have a new Pixies album to obsessively listen to and analyze, and I've been plowing through the entire Arrested Development franchise, so there may be somewhat of a gap between viewings.
A Bigger Splash
This was a Christmas night treat, a movie I'd never even heard of starring Tilda Swinton and my boyfriend Ralph Fiennes and a delightfully sullen Dakota Johnson and a very hot Belgian actor who excels at cunnilingus for the purposes of this film (and perhaps even beyond that, I'm assuming). Ralph exhibited a controlled amount of his typical steely (callback!) staring, a goodly portion of manic joie de vivre, and his usual jealous obsessiveness. He'd better win something for this masterful emotional amalgam.
Tilda did her best David Bowie here, though it was a little weird (maybe genius?) that her character suffered from a vocal malady and didn't speak for most of the movie. Spoiler alert: The first half was deliciously uncomfortable and fantastically unpredictable, the second half was meh. There's also an amazing al fresco dining scene that will make you want to rob a bank so you can rot full time on Pantelleria.
Tweets and treats at @jenngidman.
