Okay, enough, I need to just watch that damn movie.
That was me, sometime around 5pm yesterday talking to myself.
I’d come to a point where I felt totally out of the Twitter loop, teetering on social media unacceptable, because I didn’t get any of the “Catfish” and “Nev” references on my Twitter time-line. Enough was enough. So my husband Davy and I started watching Catfish after a non-catfish dinner last night. I enjoyed it, and I’d recommend it, but it’s definitely not for everyone. And I wonder if other “Angelas” have watched it and how they felt watching it.
It. I’ll try my best not to spoil it for anyone. But I will let you know that, for me, the film was a jinx. Catfish was a jinx on the rest of my evening, and most of today. For before I watched the film about some dude and his online relationship family, my day had been a success. The bitch of a cold my little Noah had been fighting for two days had all but left his little baby body, and he’d babbled happily all the daylong. And when we’d tucked him in, Davy and I had gone couch potato and turned on Catfish.
~ And to those who have watched the film, I know there are those saying the film “wasn’t a real documentary” and “Nev is gay” and yes, I’ll hesitantly buy both. But once I got past that, for me, it felt eerie at times because I have lived through Angelas and all the multiple personalities and boxes of paper towel cushions and gifts that come with Angelas. I’ve even “caught” an Angela here and there, because webs had become so complex. It’s never pretty when you catch an Angela and all her personalities. So I always let Angelas be, but I never thought someone would make a film about it and then actually take me into an “Angela’s world”.
And I believe the world “Catfish Nev” brought me into had some bad ju-ju, and jinxed me. As soon as the film ended, Davy and I went into our “night routines” where he goes around the house to check the locks on all the doors and windows and pees while I prepare Noah’s bottle for his morning feeding. Then all hell broke loose, in baby talk.
I dropped said bottle and formula was all over the place. Noah awoke suddenly, in his bed upstairs, screeching crying then coughing then gagging only to puke on me once I reached his bedside. This continued for about two hours, twice last night, causing a sleepless house and a naked me stripping after getting puked on yet again while Davy played surgical nurse handing me nose sprays and cough syrups and herbal extracts. Then spots appeared on Noah’s stomach and back and he was pale and whimpering by this morning, and at 5pm today I thought back to 5pm yesterday.
And I came to the conclusion, that Catfish is to blame. I may sound like a crazy person rambling about some random film, but I believe in the “catfish jinx”. The internet can be a scary place.