July 3, 2000 (idea)

It's quiet in my room this late at night, only the gentle hum of my computer, the occasional woosh of a passing car. And, of course, my own labored, slightly heavy breathing, accented by the staccato pounding of my heart.

Idly, I wonder if this is what it's like to be shell shocked. Perhaps, I reflect, I should have gone to see some movie other than The Patriot. After all, I saw Chicken Run on Saturday, and it didn't leave me feeling like this.

I don't want to give away any of the movie, but I doubt that anyone will be suprised to hear that there's a good deal of death in it. It's quite graphic in some spots, but there was one death that bothered me a great deal, because the character bore a very striking resemblence to someone I know and used to have very strong feelings for.

Well, now that I've written this, I've calmed down a bit, and I think I'm finally in a position to get some sleep. I'll just keep telling myself "It's not real. it's only a movie. It's not real. It's..."