Concussion Party

Forgive me for everything I am about to write. I have a concussion. Truly, genuinely. I fell, rather spectacularly, down a medieval staircase. It wasn’t actually the clumsiest thing I did that day, but regardless, it had an equally spectacular impact, literally, on the back of my head. It was quite a shock when the headache hadn't faded 3 days later, and my wit with friends seemed to be lagging by a full minute delay.

I’ve always wondered what having a concussion must be like. And in all honesty, it's not bad. It’s not good either. It’s just different. Sort of like having a brain on holiday schedule, half the office has its emails bouncing, and only the real core staff are begrudgingly in.

Rest.

Rest seems to be coming at me from all sides. Yes, I am aware. I must stop. But how? Stopping is so unlike me. My version of a relaxing time is putting all my friends' lives in spreadsheets and organising the shit out of them.

I can’t hold more than one thought at a time. I can’t multitask. I can’t think, not the way I normally do. Instead, the only thing that exists to me at any one moment is the one right in front of me. But there. There is the magic.

The ability to pay attention to one singular thing. Like my favourite thing. My favourite movies. I’ve watched three 90’s romcoms in the last two days and I’m about to watch my fourth. Fuck me. It’s brilliant. I can’t remember (really) the last time I was so fully enraptured by a movie. My concentration excludes all other stimuli. No ability to pick up my phone, no thought even to do so. No possible way to comment on the actor's previous works or the writer's choices. No way at all for the ten full years I spent in TV and Film Production to bleed into my enjoyment of the story, with pesky industry gossip or mental estimations on budget and risk assessments. Not one thought crossed my mind at all, except to fully and wholeheartedly want Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks to actually meet. I stay on tenterhooks with every stuttering word out of Hugh Grant's mouth, as he staggers through a monologue I normally know like the back of my hand.

It’s amazing. Getting this concussion has reminded me of why I love film. Why I dedicated a decade of my life to it. Because it is truly an escape. A liferaft. In the storm of injuries and illness, we all turn to movies. Our favourites from childhood often make an appearance around the same time a flu does. They comfort us, inspire us, love us.

Thats true isn’t it? Films can show us love before we are ready to be loved. They remind us of everything thats possible and beyond possible, but maybe dreamable. The friendships that could be. The Loves we could be held by. The community that could fight for us.

I’m so incredibly loved in my life. But movies showed me how. I’m not sure I would have gotten here without them. Tomorrow is my 30th birthday, and an inventory has begun in my heart (spreadsheet to follow) a list of loved ones travelling, cooking, preparing to celebrate with me tomorrow. It feels cinematic, a brilliant final scene on a decade of devotion to film. It’s almost as though this is a sign. A sign to start or stop I don’t know? But it means something. Tomorrow as the birthday party shot fades to a wide, and the soundtrack overtakes the muffled party-goers' voices. I know it will be up to the audience to decide.