Last night after class I decided I wanted to see About Time again so I called up Rob and before I knew it was in an abandoned mall thinking things like, “If someone comes near me I will swing my laptop bag at them.”
That’s the joy/curse of night classes. When I decide I want to do something after class gets out, it feels really exciting like, “I’m seizing the day here, people!” and really scary like, “It’s 10:45PM and no one is at the movie theater.”
I saw About Time on opening day, because if Nora is gone, we have to live through Richard Curtis until Mindy Kaling decides to start writing rom coms. I believe in Richard Curtis as a person and a writer and can we talk for a second about how he is married to Freud’s great-granddaughter?
I refuse to accept this as coincidence.
If I’m being honest, though, the real reason I wanted to see About Time again was because yesterday Hilary told me I was Mary in the movie.
Hilary said it was the frocks and the haircut and the way Mary has such a passion for Kate Moss, not just in an “I love Kate Moss way” but in a “Let’s talk in a real, deep way about Kate Moss because she has changed my life and the world completely.”
I am very pleased to be a Mary and can only hope this means there is a Domhnall Gleeson in my future, because hello charming ginger Hugh Grant, where have you been all my life?
I’ve also had a hyper-crush on Toby Regbo lately, so I think the pattern here is just tall, skinny, charmingly awkward British men. Women of the world, you feel me, right?
I tend to be the type of person out who says, “Don’t look now, but a crazy attractive guy just walked in” and everyone looks around like, “Where?” and then “Oh, Jill. Ohhh Jill. You can have him.”
Important stuff here.
After the movie, Rob and I were talking about time travel and our lives and what we would do if we could go back to our pasts. I had never thought about it in the context of About Time before, but without hesitation I named the exact day that I would go back to in my life. The day I would try to change history, over and over again, if necessary, until I got it right.
It might be the writer in me who wants to change endings that didn’t turn out how they should have, but there’s one story in my life that, if I had the ability to time travel, I would spend forever trying to fix.
I’m talking millions and millions of forevers.
There’s a part of me that says “Jill, there’s a reason it worked out how it did. You can’t change that.” But there’s another, bigger, romantic, part of me that says, “But yes, what if I could try again? What if I could fix these things about myself and the situation. What if, what if, what if?”
I wonder how many times I would have to relive that particular storyline before I understood I couldn’t change the outcome.
I wonder if I would ever understand that.
I wonder if I will ever understand that.