Sunday, March 26, 2017


I'm exhausted from a week of hard working. The constant pounding of being on my feet for 18 hour days. Being on. Being on. Being the work version of me. Being respected by everyone. At one point I broke down, couldn't take it anymore. I wanted out of the shell of myself everyone was forcing me into.

It manifested in asking for the number of a cute butch dyke in them middle of my hotel lobby. Fortunately, the people that were with me were mostly amused.

"Sara, you are so bold."

"I want to be you when I grow up."

She didn't give me her number, but she thought about it.

Back in Chicago with barely a week off of travel before I begin again I try to figure out what to do with myself on what should be a weekend. I don't feel like I've even had any time off, even though I had the better part of Saturday to myself.

I clean my room.

I play with my dogs.

I read a book. Another book.

I think about going to a movie, so I look up what's playing.

The film I stumble across, which ends up being the one to most pique my interest is called Raw.

It is a French film, horror, in the vampire genre. I decide I shall go see this film at the Music Box. As soon as I step into the theater I realize two things:

1) I miss watching foreign films on the big screen
2) I miss the fucking Music Box.

I have so many varying and disparate memories of films at the Music Box, but I love the venue. It's so real, so wild, so wonderful. So perfect for seeing a timeless film you love or something new you might love. I need this in my life more.

I remember falling to sleep in the Music Box. I remember Rocky Horror in the music box. I remember my first big budget foreign film on screen at the Music Box, The City of Lost Children. I watched a midnight showing with the Librarian and Monolycus. Going to the movies tonight felt like going home.

The film made me ravenous with a desire that I cannot sate. It stirred up all my lust for films that I need to quench. More cinema between travel. More.


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