Normalcy

Listen: I do this thing where I package the moments of my life into an imaginary movie, or novel. That’s normal, right? That’s a normal thing.

It’s normal to wonder what the camera angle would be when I’m sitting on the roof of the Rogers Video I used to work at, staring at the stars.

It’s normal to wonder which song would be playing during that serene peace. (It’s the one that’s stuck in my head.) To wonder how I could ever limit my mind-soundtrack to fit onto one album.

And it’s normal when the lyrics escape when I speak. Sometimes my life is packaged into a really bad musical. And that’s normal.

It’s normal to have an inner monologue where I think my thoughts in a slow, deliberate, acted-out voice, because movies with a running narration are great even though nobody thinks so–but screw them, my brain-voice is acting the hell out of this scene.

On that note, it’s normal to win mind-Oscars. But not so normal that they happen all the time–they have to be special.

It’s normal to have 13 mind-Oscars, and to remember which inner monologues I won them for.

It’s normal to say out loud to myself, “Chapter complete,” after a breakup, after moving out, after quitting a job. That’s normal. It’s not weird, or disingenuous, or tragic.

It’s normal to wonder what the ending will be. Is it after a first kiss, or the wedding, or after publishing my first novel? When is the fade to black? The curtain call? The chapter complete?

It’s the most normal thing in the world to be afraid of the ending. Because the ending is not the end, and the time between the two isn’t worth writing about. That’s the scary part. The in-between.

But it’s okay. It’s normal. Besides, that’s what sequels are for. Sequels are like reincarnation. From endings, beginnings. Something something, phoenix and ash.

No, sequels are never as good as the original. Not normally. But nothing here was really normal to begin with.

– H.

One thought on “Normalcy

  1. If you don’t have at least one melancholic moment listening to Gin Blossoms play in your mind soundtrack while on the roof of Rogers you’re missing out on some serious self-indulgence.

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