I dated this guy for a long time who would make sure he saw ever single Oscar nominee for best picture, best actor, best actress, and best director. He’d also attempt to see most for the other categories. I’m missing that right now. It was great to have my own ideas about who was the best in these categories. It was one election that wouldn’t hurt if the nominee I wanted to win didn’t. (Well, except for the Cate Blanchett, Elizabeth, fiasco, she was robbed!!)
If we had money and time I’d run out to see them. But now it just seems so decadent. Still, it makes me sad that I haven’t seen a single best picture nominee. I feel left out. So I’m going to have an Lucinda party on Oscar night. I will boycott the Oscars on the belief that movies cost too much in human hours and money (no, I don’t really stand by this belief, it’s just popular at the moment, so I’ll go along with myself). I’ll read books, or maybe I won’t, maybe I’ll boycott all forms of modern day amusement, and instead sit and watch the paint dry.
Because, like all of my relationships, it seems. Oscar and I’ve grown apart, and I’m too ashamed to come crawling back. Or perhaps I’m too proud. Maybe someday I’ll miss him so much that I’ll stop my Lucinda Party. I’ll google his name to see if he’s changed his email address. “Oscar,” I’ll write, “I’m sorry I left you. I’ve thought of you often. I wish we could just be friends again, like we once were. You could make your Billy Crystal jokes, and I’d make for you some popcorn. And we’d just sit together and enjoy the movies. Just like we once did.”
Only it would sit in my email drafts folder for a week. I wouldn’t send it. I’d be afraid he’d laugh, or wouldn’t write. It wouldn’t really be so bad, if only he’d write. It’s the silence that’s sad. If I did send it, apologizing for how I yelled at him when, during my heartache, he still awarded the wrong people, and he didn’t write, for years I’d wait for his letter. Every day I’d think he might come back into my life, no matter how hopeless it seems.
Maybe I’ll be lucky. Maybe Oscar is reading this as I write. Maybe he’ll write to me in a comment. “Del,” he’ll write. “I know you were a moron, but it seems you’ve changed. Maybe we can just be friends. Maybe, if you promise not to yell and throw things at me this year, we really can just sit, and enjoy the movies.”
That would be the best day of my life. ‘Cause, seriously, I miss the old days.
