raybear | we don't know what the box means.

On Sunday night I saw the movie Mulholland Drive. Praise jeebus. Despite me having unexplained low blood sugar and a migraine throughout half the movie, the experience was fcking amazing. I tried to explain the general plot to MelRo when I got home, and I almost wish I had tape recorded myself, because I'm sure it was bizarrely amusing, especially considering I didn't even use the character names and instead called them "a voluptuous version of Jeanne Tripplehorn" and "Tea Leoni-lookalike with dash of a working-class Meg Ryan". Of course, using the actual character names would have been more confusing, with all the Betty/Rita, Diane/Camilla stuff going on. Anyway, I want to go see this movie again and I want to read psychological analysis by David Lynch and read essays on the meaning behind every possible hollywood reference. It's almost a movie I would watch and discuss with my mom, but it's far too weird for her. And not just because it's two women sleeping together. Probably the weird old people climbing out of the box would cause her to lose attention. But she would be so good at naming all the references from the old movies and whatnot.

Speaking of my mother, I thought she might have called my cell phone yesterday afternoon, but I traced the number and it was some financial company something in the Atlanta area with the same area code and similar exchange to their cell phone number. But anyway, I've been thinking about her a lot lately. I find weird memories in songs and whatnot. One of those cases where everywhere you look, you see something that's on you mind, whether it's a real connection or not.

Today I have no headache. Yet.