I watched Wong Kar Wai's 2046 again last night and would have watched it again, but it made me tired and sick and tired and sick of making assumptions and certain idealizations about what it all meant or more specifically, what it all meant to me. What did it mean to me? Or should it even mean anything?

I didn't know what happy memory the movie made me look into, or if it was even truly happy. Memories, at least mine, are always tinged with some kind of blue of regret. To linger on this long, to be stuck on this eternal repeat of aching banality with the dark pall of death and dread. Do I want fluidity? Transformation? Do I want to say Yes to the world, finally? I am afraid to be stuck in the same forever decades-old sleep shirts and beds that smell of weariness. To be on the same infinite train to nowhere.

Give me Bright Lit Blue Skies now. Or a whiff of Chanel. Or at least give me tea. With honey. Lots and lots of honey.