(no subject)
i've been unable to come and write here bc i keep not wanting to sound too doom-filled. not that things are bad. it's the regular up and down and then some days you just can't shake off the worst thoughts before going to bed.
i watched minari finally. it was so painstakingly accurate to my life in 1980s texas, the colors, the decor, the plateware, corelle and pyrex, the clothing, the visiting relatives with 멸치 and 고추가루, koreans fucking each other over, all of it. so much so that it felt like someone presenting home movies and like why are we watching home movies of my life and also oh i forgot that and oh i forgot that and oh how does he remember all this? did lee isaac chung just not drink ever? or did i block everything out.
i liked that it was quiet and didn't do too much. the dad was too handsome and sober and not violent enough. but not all stories are my story, and my story doesnt have to be all stories. i'm glad stories are out there, more room for everyone.
how much of everything is just like literal brain damage? old age rot? i was thinking again about my mom and the bedsore that was in danger of forming towards the end. and how we tried so hard to keep it from developing. those pillows w the hole in it. constsantly shifting her in bed. all even tho the doctor had said straight up she's dying there's nothing we can do. and yet and yet, gotta keep the bedsore from getting worse.
i have to actively keep myself from thinking we're all just yeah, i dunno, trying to avoid bedsores even when it doesnt matter? something something futility of effort but you have to anyways.
i did get a job of sorts. in fact i should be working right now. but... yeah....
i watched minari finally. it was so painstakingly accurate to my life in 1980s texas, the colors, the decor, the plateware, corelle and pyrex, the clothing, the visiting relatives with 멸치 and 고추가루, koreans fucking each other over, all of it. so much so that it felt like someone presenting home movies and like why are we watching home movies of my life and also oh i forgot that and oh i forgot that and oh how does he remember all this? did lee isaac chung just not drink ever? or did i block everything out.
i liked that it was quiet and didn't do too much. the dad was too handsome and sober and not violent enough. but not all stories are my story, and my story doesnt have to be all stories. i'm glad stories are out there, more room for everyone.
how much of everything is just like literal brain damage? old age rot? i was thinking again about my mom and the bedsore that was in danger of forming towards the end. and how we tried so hard to keep it from developing. those pillows w the hole in it. constsantly shifting her in bed. all even tho the doctor had said straight up she's dying there's nothing we can do. and yet and yet, gotta keep the bedsore from getting worse.
i have to actively keep myself from thinking we're all just yeah, i dunno, trying to avoid bedsores even when it doesnt matter? something something futility of effort but you have to anyways.
i did get a job of sorts. in fact i should be working right now. but... yeah....