Oh, Buttons!

I have consumed much media in these two weeks away from the busy-ness of school & such.  I think that I like it.

Thanks to movie passes from a good friend, I saw Brad Pitt in makeup telling an old story.  Too bad we dilly-daddled & had to sit in the 2nd row, creasing our neckskin to intake the images only inches away from our squinting eyes.

 

Upon reaching California again, I tracked down an online copy of F. Scott Fitzgerald's short story.  

While the director went silly with the details of B. Button's biography, the lasting, dissatisfying sentiment was evoked by both film & book.

Usually, when a fictitious story shakes me up, I need only a few minutes of fresh (non-theatre) air to remind that it's only a movie.  But this--this was different.  

Surely we don't end up toddlers & infants before the grave, but age-induced dementia could effectively reduce us to such.  But maybe it's not so bad.  

Well into his seventies,

"Benjamin found that playing with little strips of colored paper,
making mats and chains and curious and beautiful designs, was the most
fascinating game in the world."

&

"Sometimes Nana let him jump on

the bed, which was fun, because if you sat down exactly right it would
bounce you up on your feet again, and if you said 'Ah' for a long time
while you jumped you got a very pleasing broken vocal effect."

& still I lie here, puzzled. I am frustrated because I feel too young, yet I am in no hurry to get back into diapers to make paper chains.  

Perhaps Hollywood should be commended for stirring up a little discomfort in my tiny heart. Maybe (maybe!) I'll just live today, today & tomorrow, tomorrow.