I think I’m kind of like flint.  But only one little piece of flint. 

Flint by itself is just another rock, but put it context it’s volatile.  You strike one thing against it and you get a spark and you can start a fire.  I say that I’m like flint because I react very ummmm, enthusiastically to things.  I’d like to say that I feel things very deeply, stuff affects me even when it shouldn’t.  It’s why I cry at every single movie where someone falls in love, or someone loses a love, or a friend, or when someone gets defeated, or when someone gets hurt, or when…..you get the point.  Even when I know it doesn’t matter, things really get to me, I think about them for days later.

I saw Brokeback Mountain the last week.  I thought it was good, not amazing, but good.  The only thing is, I can’t stop thinking about it.  What it would be like to be forced to live a lie, to be miserable, to not be able to love, to not feel loved.  I do this all the time, with all sorts of movies, songs, things people say, Hallmark cards…kidding…ok, not kidding.   Things just really affect me.

So the problem is, I’ve got to read something I know is going to really bother me.  I have to, I want to, I need to read this stuff, but I know it’s going to linger with me for a really long time and I’m freaked out.   Rationally, I know I need to read it, appreciate it for the art it is, the beauty it will have, and the emotions it will evoke.  But all that is rational thinking, and let’s be honest; rational, devoid of emotions thinking is not my strong suit.    I’m just nervous because I want to be able to appreciate art for art’s sake, and not internalize its every nuance; but I know me.  And I know my flinty ways.