On Saturday night after the kids went to bed Joel and I rented Inception. It was a movie that played with you, one that drew you along, upset your perception of reality, and left you hanging. It isn't the type of movie to watch when you're mentally sluggish, which was the state we both happened to be in when we viewed it.
The cinematography was fascinating and the ending ambiguous, but when the credits rolled we simply got up from the couch, looked at each other, asked if the other was going to bed, gave perfunctory nods, and put the movie's four-leveled-dream behind us without any discussion.
Last night I watched a few minutes of the Academy Awards. Given that Inception was the only movie I had seen from the best picture lineup, listening the categories and nominees made me feel as if I had entered a conversation midstream, unaware and uninformed. Who's that? I'd think. Who cares?
But today I've been mulling over things more. If inception were possible -- if I could plant an idea into someone's mind -- clearly, I'd start with my kids. I'd plant one essential idea: the idea that 6:20 a.m. is not an acceptable wake-up time.
I know, I know. A decade from now these same crack-of-dawn risers will have morphed into teens who are hard-wired to sleep until noon, and the patter of morning feet will no longer be a sound heard in our household.
For now, I will cling to the dream of luxuriously waking up on my own accord. One day it will become reality.