I feel very much like “Santa Monica” by Everclear, right now, the chorus of which goes as follows:

“We could live beside the ocean
Leave them all behind.
Swim out past the breakers
And watch the world die.”

That is a very good song.
So anyway, I’ve been feeling low as of late. Which is okay: everyone is entitled to feel low from time to thyme, (sometimes even more frequent than that, depending on their situation.) 
So that’s okay.
But I’ve found a very fun game that cheers me up quite a bit. I think I shall call it The Movie Game, because that name seems appropriate. All I do is imagine what a movie of my life would be like. As egomaniacal as it seems, it’s actually quite fun! I would strongly suggest it for anyone feeling down; it really helps put things in perspective. Or rather, that things can be put into any perspective you want, which is oh-so-true. To an extent.

* * *
I would like to take this quick opportunity to say that the weather today is so beautiful that not enjoying it is a crime actually punishable by law. The sunlight is a warm glow, the sky is a lovely blue, the green things are growing, flowers smiling, and the air has this beautiful, beautiful, peaceful taste.
Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.
* * *
Anyway, I think that I shall describe the movie I ended up with, because (apparently) this is my blog-ish and I am allowed to do so. 
It would be a film about a seventeen-year-old girl—a prolific writer—living in **** ****, where the streetlights shine brazenly, where people play instruments on street corners, with the heavy, fragrant smells of the street vendors’ food, among independent businesses and fascinating young people with interesting things to say. Sometimes.
She has this black-and-white stripy scarf that she frequently wears.
She is friendly enough and laughs a lot, though she has the tendency to be quiet. She is overly sensitive and stubborn. She does her own thing, but because it’s inoffensive she really doesn’t get any press coverage. Oh well.
That would be me.
And, for now, I work in a bike shop where things are always interesting. We ride the adult trikes around, between the racks of clothing. We periodically take the tandems and ride to get ice cream. Rubber band wars are a common phenomenon. 
The air compressor in the basement is decorated as an evil robot. His name is Karl.
And I’m surrounded by wonderfully interesting, brilliant people—wild characters! each with their own excellent talents. They keep things worth while. 
Take, for example, my eccentric sister: with her anachronism, extreme fashion, propping all the shelves in her room at a forty-five degree angle, writing “Are you hip?” on all the doorframes, hanging out in cemeteries, wrapping her midriff in ductape… on and on.
And this is the cool part: in keeping with the existence I live, the movie will jump around quite a bit. Seemingly random characters will suddenly appear and disappear, scenes will sporadically arise, setting will suddenly change… here is an example: I will get home from work, park my car, go inside my house and find myself in a space station set to self-destruct in six hours, as a technician in a rescue crew. 
Or someone will just randomly appear and I will have a conversation with them—possibly about something relevant, possibly not. And if something reminds me of some memory, or something from long ago, the camera will cut to it. And if something in the memory reminds me of something from a dream, or a story, or something, the camera will cut to it. 
And if I’m thinking about the ocean, the camera (and myself) will cut to the ocean.
And if I’m thinking about fantasy-places, the camera (and myself) will cut there.
Can you see the pattern? It will be quite wild, but that is how being me feels like: everywhere all at once, half in my head, partially a memory, partially a dream, partial reality.
Frequently, the camera will show me writing. Just to make a point, I guess. *shrug*
There would be no linear plot, I think, given 1) the sporadic nature of everything and 2) the structure will knot allow it. Things would just get too cluttered if there were, and I won’t have that in my movie.
So, though I haven’t changed reality in any way, I think it seems very film-like at this point, don’t you? And I have the ending scene worked out perfectly!
It would go like this: it’s late in the afternoon, around that time when the sunlight begins to feel heavy and lazy, tinted with wine and honey, though the sky is a lovely shade of blue, piercing and serene. And I silently come out of my house, walk down to my stationwagon, get inside, and drive away. 
As I drive, I roll down the window and turn up the radio. I’m listening to public radio, because that is the best, and they’re playing… oh, I don’t know. Something good. Something lovely and sincere.
And anyway, I drive for a while, eventually ending up on some older, beaten highway. There is prairie all around, sloping hills, clusters of dark, lush trees. By the side of the road, fragrant wildflowers and long grasses are absently waving in the wind. There is a particularly large patch of flax nearby.
I pull my car over to the side of the road, onto the shoulder, and park it. I turn everything off, get out, and climb up on top of it. There I shall sit, for some time, watching the sun sink lower and over in that flawless sky.
“I can’t believe you actually sitting out here, all by yourself.”
That’s a male voice; I glance over my shoulder, at the guy suddenly sitting by me. He’s one of my characters, Luce, with blond hair and a smirky voice. But he’s sitting there by me, and I say, “Yeah… I don’t know.”
“Too bad.”
“I s’ppose so. Anyway, what are youdoing out here?”
And he’ll laugh, “Ahahah…. yeah… y’know, I don’t really know.”
Then I’ll smile and say, “That’s redundant,” and then my anti-muse, Azkaban—who is a small sillohete of a dragon—will flutter past and land on my shoulder. I’ll look down at him, and he’ll be shifting around and all fidgety in that way he is.
That will just be the beginning of it, because more and more would just keep coming, until the road is packed with angels and my characters, and faces—everyone I’ve ever known! Demons and stories and maidens and beasts and friends and knights and magicians and thieves and these strange, luminous ghosts about knee high that wander around humming to themselves and staring at you with wide eyes. And the sky would come to life with large, chunky clouds catching the light and drifting across the sky in magnificent vapor dreams and legends! And the musicians are playing, and everyone is moving and talking and laughing and crying and singing and loving and hating and all
those good
things
that happen
when
you’re alive.
And Luce would lean over to me and shout, “It’s getting kinda crowded out here, huh?”
Then all of the sudden—out of nowhere!—everyone/thing would disappear, and it would all be quiet (except the wind in the long grass and the chatter of birds’ song) and I would be left completely alone. All By Myself. And I would answer, “Yeah… how ‘bout that.”
Then there would be silence—just silence, as I sit up there watching the honeyed blue of the evening sky. It would last for a while, before the credit song would begin to play: “I’m Still Here,” by Kula Shaker.

“I was sure I heard you singing, while my head was broken up.
While my world, in flames, was rearranged. Oh, I!
I’m still here.

In a blazing forest fire.
In a web of my own desires.
In a place that we are destined to return.

On an ocean I can’t fathom.
In a truth I can’t unravel. Oh, I!
I’m still here.
Oh I! I’m still here.
I’m still here.”

—because, you see, that’s the ending that makes me smile the most.