In Life Is To Be Forgotten

This past weekend, Mr. Mystery and I set out on a world of adventure that looked nothing like what we had originally planned. This isn't out of the ordinary, the reality not matching the dream, in that Mr. Mystery and I are both avid sleepers and make a habit out of missing the mornings on Saturday and Sunday.

Saturday was, well... I don't remember Saturday. There was a family BBQ involved, but I don't remember what we had planned to do and we actually did. Brunch was in there somewhere, as was walking, which means that there was also whining about my feet.

Sunday was the day in which we were to Do Things, but what actually happened is that we went to the movies instead. Again, this is not out of the ordinary. Our movie of choice? A lighthearted animated children's film by a reknowned animation studio, a studio that has turned out success upon success and whose films have never failed to make me chuckle. This particular movie, however, made me want to slit my wrists and die.

The problem was this: Pixar? They tried to kill me with tears and sadness. The tears were because the movie, UP, was heart-wrenching, a fact they omitted in the trailers. I was ready for a topsy-turvy adventure with balloons and talking dogs, a boy scout and a curmudgeonly old man. Pixar gave me these things, but they came at a price. The price was an unsettling look into the blackest parts of my very soul. Had I known that I was going to be drawn and quartered by fearful sadness, I would have traded in my Skittles for some Goobers. Tears like mine needed chocolate, not a rainbow of fruitiness.

UP was sad because it embodied the world's (read: MY) two biggest fears: 1) DYING ALONE; and 2) COMING TO THE END OF YOUR LIFE AND REGRETTING NOT HAVING DONE MORE WHEN YOU COULD.

The movie ended on a supposedly high note, but it was too late for high notes. The beginning left me for dead and once dead, you just don't recover. (Unless you're Jesus.) I sniffled as Mr. Mystery and I left the theater. "That was sad," I said. He agreed. (Side note of love: My man? He cries at movies and I dig that.) "That movie was my two biggest fears... ANIMATED."

Mr. Mystery pulled me against him and gave me a hug. We stood there for a few moments quietly, me thinking that I was going to die alone and regretful, him likely contemplating the perma-knot in the back of my head and wondering why I don't brush my hair already, for the love of gawd.

UP haunted me for days. Because I was so deeply perturbed by the children's film, I decided to discuss it with my therapist. This? Was a BAD IDEA. For the first time since starting with this new doctor, I left the appointment feeling more dissatisfied than when I started, for instead of picking at my Pile of Personal Problems and reducing its size, we ADDED TO THE DAMN THING.

"There is a lot of work ahead of us," Mrs. Lady Doctor told me. "Lots of issues to delve into." I think I may have thrown myself on the floor and wailed at that point. Really? I have lots of issues that we need to delve into? I wonder what tipped her off... my fear of dying and having God tell me that I was a royal screw-up and undeserving of Heaven? Or my thought that having a child would mean that I wouldn't be left alone, to die lonely and ancient, steeping in my own excrement? Or maybe my fear of disappointing my parents, even though I'm 31 and well beyond the age of caring about such things? Finding issues with me is like shooting into a barrel of fish.

Anyway, there is no point to this post except to warn you about UP. And also, maybe, to warn you about me. I'm nutty and likely to go off at any moment. If I lose my mind and start stealing people's babies, all the while screaming, "DON'T LEAVE ME TO DIE ALONE! DON'T LEAVE ME TO DIE ALONE!", blame Pixar, those rat bastards. Blame Pixar.