What is the colour of love?

Today was one of those days where I quite simply ate everything in sight. The day after the mega-hangover is generally like that. Nachos with cheese, french fries, fish, yeah, it might not seem like a lot, but trust me, it is. I spent most of the day on the phone, or in front of the tv, eating or drinking. Much water being consumed here today. Though I notice I'm down to my last bottle. Note to self -- buy more water. I like Sunday morning television on CBC. The full week of Cornonation Street. Evan Solomon. Land & Sea. It's just good stuff. It's easy to get lost under the covers til noon dozing in and out of CBC docs.

DVDs watched this weekend include Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, Reality Bites, The Favourite Game, Singles, and Disco Pigs. Perhaps technically Cameron Crowe's addition to the list should not count because I did mostly sleep through it, fell dead to world last evening just after my favourite line, "I was just . . . nowhere near your neighbourhood." Is that even halfway? Methinks not. Late yesterday afternoon I watched the one from Leonard Cohen's novel. I've only seen it once or twice and not anytime recently. I had forgotten practically everything. I enjoy JR Bourne though. He is one of my favourite Canadian actors. He was on Godiva's. Is that still on? I used to enjoy that show too. But I've lost touch with tv programming. Earlier today I watched Eternal Sunshine and did not cry! That's some kind of record I'm sure. Ohh, but I do love it! She is just amazing in that movie. I had a sudden urge to put in Titanic afterward, just to see more of her American accent. But I didn't. I found myself oddly drawn to Pig and Runt again. My boy, Cillian, in the first role I ever saw him in, the one that made me a fan. And once again the final scene ripped out my heart and turned me into a blubbering mess. The colour of love is blue. He hands her the red t-shirt but she takes the blue dress from under his head instead. Because the last thing she wants him to see is the colour of love. And he doesn't fight but goes willing and my heart breaks every time. Disco Pigs brings out the big old sloppy tears, the jagged sobs, the fetal position, a burying of my head in the pillow, a hugging of knees. Why do I do that to myself? Repeatedly.

All in all it was a good weekend. I didn't get much work done, but maybe that's okay, maybe I needed to get my head out of it to get fresh again. Maybe I needed to rest my fingers, wrist and all the other joints that I'd been killing all week, pressing through the pain. Today, I notice marked improvement. I had a good time during a spontaneous sleepover with friends. Is there anything better than staying up all night with a good friend, drinking and conversation til nearly dawn? I haven't been doing this enough over the past few years. I used to do it every night of the week. THAT was excessive. But every once in awhile is a good thing.

Mood: content
Drinking: water
Listening To: people overhead
Hair: facing an impending alteration