ihavebeenfloated

I finished Tom Drury’s new novel, The Driftless Area. It made me feel both uplifted and completely crushed. First time a novel of his has done that to me. I have to wonder if that is because his other novels are totally unlike this one (which they are) or if it is just because my entire perspective on life has changed. I have proof of the latter now, I will try to prove the former once I get through all this other shit I have to read. Hello Lovecraft; Hello Dunsany.

I showed Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind to Mike just now.

I remember when I saw it in theaters, shortly after my nineteenth birthday. It made me feel good. It filled me with hope that some day I’d meet my own Clementine. I remember when Bill saw it, he said the same thing, that he dreams of some day meeting his own Clementine. Up until recently the film always made me feel good, mostly for that reason, by the end of it I would be filled with such a grand feeling of hope that it would make me happy for the rest of the day.

But now, no, I’m trying to find that feeling of hope in it and I can’t. I think the trick to it is that I actually did meet my Clementine, and I had the same experience Joel does in the film. Things fell apart, all the bad characteristics of Clementine that were originally intriguing and desirable turned into something sinister and frightening, as if they were all so properly arranged to inflict the largest amount of psychic pain possible. I could look past all those before, but now I can’t.

Trista was, decisively, my Clementine. She was intriguing because she was a free spirit. She was quirky, interesting, unique, and exciting. Maybe I did think she could save my life, save me from the previously slightly unhinged but totally uninteresting women I had been with previously, who had broken my heart or whose I had broken.

But no, she couldn’t.

And now I watch Eternal Sunshine and while I can try to look at it as a love story in reverse, of two people destined to be together who find love able to overcome all unsurmountable obstacles; instead I see the truth, which is two people who probably really shouldn’t be together still trying to believe that love can overcome that kind of pain. It can’t, there is no reason to hold on, to try again, because the same thing will just happen again.

I’d like to think that maybe I can warp that into something positive, but it’s not possible, my powers of denial have diminished under the strain of common sense gained through experience and now it just makes me sad.

I suppose that’s a good thing.

I wont be searching for my Clementine anymore.

Of course, the chance that I will just happen to find another are probably pretty good, but I’ll take my chances, I always do.