A Streetcar Named Desire - All About My Insecurities

Yesterday, I went for a home-theatre movie triple bill at my friend's home. I expected it to be pleasant - the movies, my friends, and the whole experience. It was almost totally pleasant. I was wishing for just the one thing - if only I could leave my mind back home. My insecurities keep popping up everywhere as potential triggers. They indeed did here!

We watched three classic movies - 'A Streetcar Named Desire', 'All About Eve' and 'All About My Mother'. I watched two and a half as I felt sleepy and bored (I don't know which preceded which) through the first one. Apart from a couple of friends of Marlon Brando's who titillated my nonexistent tits, so to speak, I wasn't touched, moved, aroused, amazed, astounded, or even interested.

After Desire, we watched the other two and I was increasingly pleasured by the two others - especially 'All About My Mother'. My friend had chosen these movies as a planned crescendo because Mother had so many references to Eve and Desire. The movies were great, but I wished I could have watched them alone, so that I could pause when I wanted to, sleep when I needed to, and research when I'm forced to. That way I don't need to be wary of the potentially hurtful discussions afterward, when I'd be clueless as a kitten to be swooped off by a vulturous eagle.

See, I don't even remember the name of the characters. Almost everyone on the planet seems to know them by heart. And I can't recollect the most obvious of such details without Wiking/IMBDing. I'm pathetic, I know. But I'll leave whining for a little later.

I'm a tired man, I must remember. I've too many things on my plate that I can't even possibly taste and I'm full almost upto my lower esophagus. I'm on antidepressants and antipsychotics which supervene on my efforts to maintain wakefullness. I've a minefield of a mind full of blackholes about insecurities of lack of knowledge and exposure to arts, history, and what not.

In such a state, it was foolish of me to have attempted instant redemption. No offence to my lover and friends, I'm not quite up to the mark. I suck at most things that I want to be good at. I agree that I'm good at most things that I end up devoting time to. But there are far too many things, far far too many things, and too little time, which might have been curtailed had it not been for these pills that I'm on.

No one can save this wreck from sinking. But how much more can it float?