This is the first morning I feel geuinely, truely better. I can move without a warning tension in my chest, and breathing is only a little uncomfortable instead of unbearable. I have never taken any medication so diligently as the beautiful yellow and blue caplets that are clearing my lungs. I ahve never been so thankful for the inhabitants of my chest cavity, never so appreciative of the job they do. I wish I could give my lungs a raise. They're a real asset.
I drank half of a bottle of red wine last night which watching Joel Schumacher's The Phantom of the Opera. It didn't make it any better. I hate that movie, because I wanted to love it so very badly and it would not let me. Visually, the film is stunning. The art direction is spot on. Miranda Richardson and Minnie Driver both rock the house, the little they're given with which to rock. But watching the leads is like watching cardboard cutouts wander around the stage. Gerard Butler, do something with your body. Emmy Rosum, you are a beautiful girl and yes you can hit the notes, but your entire performance is based on that one horrible face that Sarah Brightman makes and you look no less catatonic and bovine than she did so MAYBE YOU SHOULD CONSIDER BASING YOUR PERFORMANCE ON SOMETHING OTHER THAN AN EXPRESSION THAT HAS BEEN MOCKED UNMERCIFULLY FOR TWO DECADES.
and I am not even going to talk about Raoul's pants because he clearly stole them from David Bowie and I DON'T NEED TO SEE THAT.
Anyway. My eyelids hurt this morning from the amount of red wine I had to drink to watch that movie again. I hope my eyelashes don't fall out. I don't have many to spare.