Bubbles

I just watched the movie "Frozen" and loved it.

I was in a terrible mood and it immediately enraptured me. The animation, the way the light shone through the ice, mmm, it tasted so good to my eyes.

By the time the elk or reindeer character got his antlers entangled in the dangling branches of trees which were covered in drops of ice that were shining more beautifully than any Christmas lights ever could, I was smiling inside, because my spirit had chosen to take the movie in, no matter what happened. It was mine, it was my own little piece of irreality, a bubble of a story that I could hold forever in my heart as a beautiful work of art and inspiration, storytelling and magic. Like a dollhouse I could enter whenever I wanted or leave alone if I felt that way.

There's a book called "The Great Good Thing" in which the characters are characters in a storybook and their lives depend on being remembered by their reader. As they deteriorate, well, I actually forget what happens. It means they are going through the same journeys and struggles as they did in their original story right now as I write this.

When the movie ended, I had to sleep uncomfortably and I was angry and my bad mood returned. My bubble of happiness had been put away. Sometimes I like to just be angry and not pull out my happy stories and beautiful memories. But they're there. When I went to sleep they came along.