I find lately, seeing as I have a quite a bit of "me" time on my hands, that I imagine little moments out of my day as scenes from movies. Or scenes from a movie. The movie in my head. (This is confiding a lot since I am risking coming across like an insane person. And/or completely narcissistic.) I feel somewhat confident that I am not alone in doing this. But I do believe it's one of those unspoken tidbits in our culture. The personal movie acting-outer.
I get nervous sometimes when I'm home alone and someone comes to the door. And a snippet from my "action" movie begins. SPEED...aaaand ACTION! I may lean against the kitchen wall and sneak a peek down the hallway to have a look out the window to see who is at the door. Or I will get on my hands and knees (yes, I have done this) and crawl through the living room, onto the couch and peer through the blinds. My heart pounds. I barely breathe. And then the Little Leaguer selling chocolate bars walks back down my driveway. AND SCENE!
Just a few days ago, I applied make-up to my face. Brown eyeliner, some blush and some earthy colored lipstick. Then I went about my day, which consisted of putting away laundry, making beds, cleaning the kitchen, looking for a job, etc. A few times I'd catch a glimpse of myself in a bedroom mirror. And I felt ridiculous all painted up. I'm not really sure why. I'm not against make-up. I'm sure I need it to enhance my look. Aaaaaand ACTION! Like a Geisha looking in the mirror attempting to see her true identity, an identity that had been stolen from her when she was a child, I slowly began to wipe the make up off my face. First smearing it, but then wiping my face clean, revealing my natural beauty (reminder: this is a movie. And I already mentioned the potential for narcissism.) Satisfied, I took a simple bobby pin and pulled a strand of hair off my face. I stood about an inch from the mirror inspecting my clean face for a few seconds, then went back to my chores. AND SCENE! I was particularly brilliant in this one.
Just yesterday, I became a character typically played by Laura Linney. The likable, scattered, about-to-crack mother, driving the two boys home from daycare. I'd given them both peaches in their car seats to eat on the drive home. In the rear view mirror I could see the juice of the fruit running down their faces, fingers and down to their elbows. Both boys were getting sticky and a little uncomfortable, thus whiny. I kept an upbeat tone telling them "it's just fruit from the peaches. we'll get you cleaned up as soon as we get home. it's not a problem to get a little messy." But in my movie close-up, my subtle expression was revealing "what made you think peaches in the car with no napkins made sense? now you'll have a mess to deal with. why don't you have more foresight?" I gazed out at the open road ahead. And then, we pulled into the driveway. AND SCE..... um...I said AND SCEN.....why hadn't the action stopped? I totally nailed that one! The boys were waiting for me to take the peach pits and half eaten bits of fruit from them. Which I did. Then I unbuckled them from their carseats with my own sticky hands. Wiped them both down with a previously-used napkin from the car floor. In my head, I was yelling AND SCENE! AND SCENE! AND SCENE! Then I realized the credits were running. The boys and I decided to have a rambuncious running contest to the mailbox. And FADE.