“Jerry, George, this is Stan the Caddy.”

I’m thrilled in anticipation of December 15, 2017.  I’m so excited I’m trembling.  I’ll bet Carrie Fisher’s daughter is feeling all the feels from watching this, too.  It’s going to level me in the theater (again.)  The Star Wars films are off the chart for overstimulation.  The soundtrack alone is practically more than I can take, it’s so incredible.  The franchise is deeply embedded in my world and has been since I was a silent child.

Leia Organa was the first (imagined) hero in my world.  Carrie Fisher evolved into a real-life hero while her life trained her like a Jedi.  Thriving with mental illness is very much like Jedi training.  You have to trust in The Force, or you’ll be too tempted to give in to the dark side (self-destruction.)  It’s why being literal-minded is something I treasure, (despite its tendency to annoy others.)

I need to start working out a plan to allow me to see it at the theater.  I’ll break it up into four viewings.  One thing in my favor:  The people who also love Star Wars will be there with me, and none of them made fun of me when I wept silently through half of Star Wars:  The Force Awakens.  Of course, I’m going to cry when I see General Leia again.  (It would be weird if I didn’t.)

The last time I was in Denver, I stayed at The Art hotel.  It’s lovely and ideally located in the museum district.  It has some fabulous art installations.  As I was entering with my R2-D2 carryon suitcase in tow, a woman complimented it, stating it was unusual.  The asshole she was with, (some random man) said it’s not unique, it’s intended for children.

I smiled at the woman and ignored the asshole as we got in the elevator.  I hate elevators.  They’re racist/hate detectors.  I despise the ones who freeze in horror when the doors slide open to reveal my beautiful brown skin.  Racists usually opt to wait for the elevator to return rather than sharing it with me.  It’s an incredibly revealing moment I’d prefer not experiencing again.  I’d rather endure three assholes who think Star Wars is a children-only world.

I’m glad I didn’t bother explaining to him how the story scales to the viewer’s comprehension. What was initially mind-boggling fascination becomes nostalgic and corny through older eyes.  But the story continues, and enchantment is renewed with each installment.  Episode I is the only film that made me physically ill in the theater.  The pod racing was so loud, I hurled, and my brother had to help me outside to recover.  Good times.

I love having an epic experience in waiting.  It makes me giddy every time I remember.  I switched routes for Meals on Wheels.  It’s unbelievable how challenging it is for me to navigate a new neighborhood with time constraints.  Good thing it’s not snowing yet.  There really ought to be a law regarding continuity of residential addresses, though.  I’m pretty sure I lost a layer of enamel from grinding through that exercise in frustration tolerance.  But you know what?  It’s okay.  Star Wars. 🙃