Mo Bitar

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Notes to self. Working on Standard Notes, a simple and private notes app.

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Loosened

It is inanely cold today. I took what was supposed to be a brisk walk, but turned out to be a nipping icebath, and all my parts are now numb. Icicles are beginning to crystalize in the outer shell of my mind, slowing the speed of my thoughts to a drawl. My functions are still unthawing, but I can waste no more time—I’ve come running back as quickly as I could. My fingers feel large and blurry, and mistype flagrantly as I write. You are reading this only by the mercy of autocorrect:

I saw something strange on this walk. And I can’t be sure if what I saw is what I saw. My face was mostly covered with a ski-mask and by the hairs of my coat jacket; the teary melt in my eyes formed an icy bond between my eyelids, causing a glare and twinkle in everything I saw. But it could not be mistaken.

A few days ago, I discovered that Easy on Netflix was an anthology series, and not another Netflix love show. Never one to afford missing out on the creative wonders of anthologies, I settled in and watched one then two then three episodes. The last of these episodes is the one which helps us tell this tale. The storyline captivates us in the optimistically mundane lives of people living in Chicago. Watching, I began to melt into my sofa, while the show simultaneously unbuckled and loosened my grip on reality, pulling me into its adjacent world. I was made to believe that these characters were real-life people, so much as to have made me wish the best for them after the closing credits played.

In this episode, however, there were no conflicts. There was no foreshadowing, or tension; no antagonist or protagonist. The show presented no obstacles and no solutions. No lesson, moral, or food for thought. Most ultimately, it delivers a profound lack of climax.

But I did thoroughly enjoy it while it passed. I enjoyed being in the real presence of, if I'm not mistaken, friends for twenty-eight minutes. I had no regrets, and would happily spend time in that same way if again offered.

A lack of conclusion might as well be in the horror genre for me, but maybe it doesn’t have to be that way? It’s the journey, isn’t it?


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