A Perfect World

Sometimes a perfect chemistry happens, making you want to reconsider your life situation--
First, the movie that builds up to the perfect grief,
that unheroic movie star that steals your heart almost for real, for the simple reason that you are attracted to him, across the fourth wall, exactly as you were attracted to someone who sat next to you with an invisible pull, so desperately strong you couldn't believe you stayed seated where you were, thoughts remaining thoughts, paining you.
The unheroic hero dies a stupid death.
It's not a b-rated movie, but I let it in; I bonded to the story.  And my feelings in response to the stupid ending are the same rage that the surviving protagonists displayed.

The evening is young when the movie is over; I prepare to start psyching myself up to attack an art project awaiting.  I spend a lot, a lot of mental energy psyching myself up for things I don't want to do, and I don't actually succeed very often, but the mental energy gets used, as one who dreams their way through a day at work only to be woken by their alarm to face a day of work.

Now I just lean my chair back and turn on some tunes.  Moody tunes.  Sulking that the unhero and a hotshot sniper just had to be in the same story, leading to an inevitable stupid shooting.

So I'm leaning back in my chair, and I find I have to look up the movie trivia.  If the story is based on a true one, I can accept it.

I see no indication that it was.

But I've calmed down.

Do I have to be creative?
Do I have to be productive?
I have so many books of piano music I'll never learn.
Art supplies, and the reputation that still brings the occasional request for a commission, which my inertia resists accomplishing.

No.  Tonight I am listening to music and appreciating it, drinking it, creative expressions which deeply resonate with feelings I would struggle to express if they weren't already so eloquently laid out by others.

Do I have to study languages night after night, getting nowhere, tearing my brain to pieces to make a mosaic of my own design?  Oh, I'm sick of it.  Tonight, a break from the grind and work and striving.

Sweet music.  "They drank up the wine, and they got to talking...they now had more important things to say."  Thank you, Fastball.  What a lyrical song.