It's snowing outside. Not the blizzard like snow or the stuff that really accumulates. I think it's movie snow. Girlfriends have talked of it lately; they want movie snow. I joked of setting up wind machines and getting bleached corn flakes or shredded foam to make them "movie" snow. Now as I look outside I see what they meant. Like looking through a filter of white flakes--everything seems pretty. The wind has been blowing too much for me. The umbrellas outside the window are coiled and secured but still they sway and swish and rock, precariously it seems, under the ferocity of the wind's wrath. Just goes to show: life is not a movie. No matter how I imagine it so, life doesn't flow like a nice little tide story on the silver screen. Life has plot lines that don't get resolved, relationships than never heal and wind that blows too hard. These descriptions could all be said of bad movies as well, which are perhaps closer to life than "good...
My journey, chronic depression, book/games reviews and a little poetry.