I just submitted myself to two hours and ten minutes of pure torture. Knowingly and willingly submitted myself to two hours and ten minutes of pure torture. I just opened a bottle of wine and poured myself a large glass to help me forgive myself for being so incredibly lame and crazy.
I just finished watching P.S. I Love You on HBO. What in Goddesses name was I thinking? If you are a sad person, don't watch this movie. If you just lost a loved one, don't watch this movie. If you are a happy person surrounded by all of the people you love, don't watch this movie. For sad people, this movie can bring out your inner Silvia Plath. For happy people...well, I guess it does the same thing. For two hours and ten minutes I squinted at the TV because my tears were blurring my vision, hoping that there will be a light at the end of the tunnel, or that the gas in the stove would miraculously turn off. The only positive thing about the movie was getting to see a few very brief glimpses of Harry Connick, Jr. (who I heart mucho, by the way). But since those glimpses were rare, they didn't turn this depressing movie into a Harry Connick, Jr. swoon fest as I was hoping. So now I am drinking my wine, waiting for a call from a friend who I know will make me laugh and assure me I was a crazy person long before I watched this movie.