I painted my eyes in honor of my dear, sweet Steve Rogers this past Sunday (all while wearing my tribute tee shirt and my comic book styled Nikes). I dragged my mother to sit in line with me at the movie theater for about an hour and a half, parked next to some kids (one with a smart phone and the other with a Hulk toy), all of us waiting to get in on a weekend showing of The Avengers. It was worth the company and the wait. All two and a half of sitting there between sips of diet Coke and giggles louder than the dialogue on screen.
The problem with it was the awkward feeling you get after it. The fact you don’t know where to put yourself. You want more, but, there isn’t exactly more of what you want. There’s similar. There’s other versions. There’s histories, alternate universes, endless discussion, fan works, and crying in your bedroom because you don’t have enough spare change to go to the movies again.
(I’m kidding about the crying part. I think.)
It is a strange afterglow when you finish something. When you finish anything, really. When you close the last page of the best book you’ve read in a while, you want to tear out all the pages, sew them together and make a blanket to sleep under. DVDs and Sleep Timers exist for this very reason. There is often a constant drone of Star Trek (2009) in the background when I am doing things.
It is probably the best feeling of loving something. Where it washes over you and you feel like the most awkward child on the planet, refreshing the Internet over and over again.
I feel sorry for the people who never feel like this about things, who don’t understand the pull of an obsessive personality about something. How you’re a little grateful when it shifts to something new because then, at least, you have something to look forward to. I wouldn’t want anything else other this, you know?
But man, that fricken’ Avengers?
So fucking good.