A conversation with my parents reminded me of the afternoon that my family went to see Honey I Blew Up the Kids, and how I was so scared that my dad had to take me out of the movie theater. I felt unbelievably guilty that day for being childish and making my dad leave, and as we waited for my mom and sister to finish the movie, he bought me a pack of Fruit Stripe gum which I saved as a tiny token of his love for me.
While falling asleep I was thinking about the first night that I opened the front door to find Starbucks Boy on my porch, how thrilling it felt, and how I've been trying for over a year now to decouple that memory from Explosions in the Sky (a difficult task, as the mind is a funny thing).
Reading this, in which he writes "Looking back at it now I wonder how 22 year olds could have made each other so miserable," had me thinking of a late night-into-early morning argument in the summer of 2006, when I was so saddened and sickened and in love that I had to break from fighting to throw up. I haven't come anywhere close to feeling that way since, and morbidly miss being so engulfed in another person that it becomes physically painful.
Being home ignites strange emotions. Also, Reading Rainbow goes off air today. How sad is that?