Mar 31, 2006

Getting some Potato Chips

Today I'm very excited about getting some potato chips.

Here's my plan. One big bag of kettle cooked, hopefully BBQ or jalepeno. Another big bag, Ruffles, ridges, Cheddar Cheese and Sour Cream. I want to eat these with a frosty can of Coke. Sit on my bed and watch West Wing DVDs.

I have successfully gotten up before 7:00 AM for three days now. The mornings have been pretty productive, but right now, I'm in agony. I'm staying awake by will power alone. I move by the power of prayer. It seems, just as in high school, my body simply doesn't give a damn how many hours of sleep I got, if I make it move before 9AM, it's not cooperating. It will have its revenge.

There's some promise on the dating front, or at least, there's someone who perhaps accidentally got my hopes up. This is promising -- promising to be very disappointing in a slow, sinking disappointment way.

Meanwhile, the producer didn't like my proposal for Hell Froze Over, but liked the writing in the sample enough that he wants to meet with me once he gets back from Cannes, so he can explain what he wants for the project more thoroughly, and have me write another sample.

Yippie! I get to do more free work!

I haven't told you anything about this project, but if course, I think he's wrong about Hell Froze Over, and will tell you about it soon. Maybe I'll even link the proposal, since it's now officially mine again. Rejected!

Maybe tomorrow I'll go see Brick. I hear it was done for half a million, because they filmed without lights, mostly in daylight. I also hear it's playing at the Arclight and in some place called "Manhattan."

Mar 28, 2006

Give Morning a Try

After four years of intensive study, I have concluded that all day jobs are bad for me. Once again, this one is killing me. Quickly.

 But I cannot escape it, because there aren't going to be any better day jobs than this. There's no place else to explore. Aside from the pay, which could be improved, this is as good as I'm gonna find. Thus, I either slowly tighten until I snap, or I find a way around this immovable object.

Each day, I go to work, and by the end of my stay there, my spirit is 100% broken; I just want to go home, drink a few beers, and curl up for sleep. Even when I'm not physically drained, I'm soul tired, uninspired, angry, hopeless, and lonely.

So, my plan is this: I'm going to get up early, and try to work for three or four hours every morning, before going to work and having my soul crushed. This is a terrible idea, but terrible ideas are the only ones that seem to materialize in this world, aren't they?

We all know, this will never work. I am as far from a morning person as possible. I'm more Republican than I am morning person. Yet, it's in the morning shower that I feel closest to maybe, maybe, maybe being able to write something again, maybe, maybe, maybe and enjoy my existance again. It's not until work beats the hope out of me that I rage at my solitude and my powerlessness. So. We'll try this. My alarm clock is set for 6:05 AM. I'm gonna give it a shot.

Hell, I can't get any grumpier.

Mar 23, 2006

Harder and Harder to Breathe

I've been spending a lot of time with old Darwin's Kids raw footage this week, searching for stuff for our reunion in May, getting ready to patch together some treats for the DVD. And I return to an old state of mind.

Four years later? I am quite a pitiful thing.

I do not like what I'm doing with my life. I preferred life then. And I don't know how the fuck I can get life to be anything better than this, anything even vaguely similar to what it was then. There is a shortage of resources for doing the things I love, and the jobs that would allow me access to those resources are snatched up by the children of those who have it already, by the connected and well-born. And of course, by the lucky. And of course, by the charming.

One of which, I am not.

I don't know how to get there from here. I'm out of tricks and schemes. I'm out of ideas. I can't think of anything I want to write, because I have faith in none of it. None of it will get me out of this cage.

I'm poor, and I'll always be poor. I'll always work a lousy job to pay the bills, and I'll always get tired and bored and frustrated with it, I will never love or even tolerate it. I will not get ahead in that job, and the disappointment and frustration with it will be added to my disappointment and frustration with life, adding frustration and disappointment to frustration and disappointment. I will be forever frustrated and disappointed. What kind of person is that? One whose company will never be desired, one who will enjoy the company of no-one.

I have no desire to speak, because all I know of desire, is terrible how it feels when it is frustrated. In my profession. In my affections.

I just want to catch a break, so I can breathe.