Tonight’s the long-awaited Hamlet night, streaming live from London. As much as I bitch about technology being the bane of my existence, it’s pretty damn cool it can let me watch a live performance thousands of miles away in the comfort of a local theater.
And dream about kinda sorta being in the same place at the same time as this man:
Benedict’s lasted a while as my celebrity crush, though the light did dim a bit when he got married and he and his wife had a baby. In real life, I can’t – and won’t – poo-poo love between anyone. It sure puts a damper on the old, inner fantasy life, though. There’s something mildly disconcerting about going all dreamy over a married man. Probably because in real life that’s where my line is firmly drawn. In my world (and in certain circumstances) flirting and the like is okay if someone’s dating, but ring on finger? Nope. Nada. Not a chance in hell.
Anyway, I had an exchange with my awesome and much loved sister-in-law last night that went something like this:
Me: So… tomorrow night’s Hamlet. I’m excited! It’ll almost be like being in the same place at the same time with Benedict.
SIL: (cue mildly disdainful look) You keep telling yourself that… if it makes you happy.
I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry – I can’t imagine a life without the random “What ifs” that give me butterflies, even if I know they’ll never happen. My SIL is scientifically brained. She’s literal and would probably describe herself as a realist. I’m happy to trip down whatever path my creative brain shoves me and think reality is boring and overrated, regardless of the necessity of dealing with it.
I’m pretty sure she thinks I live in a state of arrested development.
I’m totally okay with that.
Tonight’s date night with Benedict.