25 minutes and a punch in the chest

i've got 25 minutes remaining on my battery, about that much consciousness left in my day, and i'm taking you up on your assignment, adam.

the thing i've chosen to share...
isn't a cute christmas anecdote about my funny family or my dad's partially severed finger or telling my friend adam "the christmas man" i'd decorate his house like christmas every day if he paid me.

it's kind of about a movie.
which i realize i probably refer to often.
probably because my best friend is a film fiend. and also because movie theatres are the sanctuaries and studies of our culture--filmmakers and screenwriters are the modern day theologians, regardless of whether they (or we) know it.

it's kind of about me.
which i realize i also refer to often.
probably because it's my primary perspective?

i went to see P.S. I Love You yesterday.
my best friend cried through the whole thing.
it was kind of like that. it was really great. and really awful.
the movie opened with this argument and the guy said something to the girl to the effect of "stop waiting for life to start..we're already living" ... and i'm pretty sure someone else brought it up later in the movie, about how she was in this crippling suspended state of preparation ... in any case, it was like someone behind the lights and sounds and characters who weren't exactly talking to me punched me right in the chest.

it's my biggest secret.
it's probably ruining me.
i'm putting life off.