First of all, welcome back all. I haven't been writing much lately--finishing the movie was the main culprit, then the gf, then, well...then just life, I guess.
This was the main shocker: that the finishing of the movie wouldn't provide an abundance of free time. That existence was just going to be filled with other things. I have a list of 30 or so tasks that need to be accomplished before I can catch up in life. And these are neither long-range nor abstract goals, either, but concrete things that need to be done in the next couple of days...and which, of course, will just replaced by other things. This list does not seem to diminish. Ever.
And I am unmarried! Childless! Renting! Healthy!
I know I am not unique in this regard, but when did this list turn from three or four things into thirty? Even just two years ago I feel that I might have had one or two things to do on a day off and the rest of the afternoon and evening could be filled with whatever. Now there's just this interminable list and the backlog of responsibilities. Ah, the years of college, when weeks could go by without accomplishing anything, when one could read at random and laze about.
On a side note, when did children start drinking coffee? We were filming at a classroom at this inner-city junior high and when were finished the production left our starbucks and bagels there and the students were all sitting around sipping java. Huh? I do not approve of this behavior. Does that make me a curmudgeon? Whatever happened to juice?
4 comments:
Do we get an update on the film fest, the many awards, the distribution deals? etc?
Welcome back. We've missed you!
Welcome back! I thought we were going to hear about the trials and tribulations of working with self-absorbed movie types, publicists who don't listen and wanna-be film critics.
Well who the hell ever lets kids drink coffee is a nutjob: like most kids aren't wired up enough. When I was 9 I went into the kitchen where my parents were chatting over their coffee, got a cup, poured myself some and proceeded to sit down with them. They both were agape at my timerity. I took one sip and spit it back in the cup.
"How can you drink that?" I asked them.
"When you get old your tongue stops working." I believed them and went around dreading/paranoid about not being able to taste anything when I grew up for a few days until my Mom told me the truth.
Hey, it's the big guy, back. I hate to say it but there has been a hole in my life. My feeling of existential dread is . . . relieved!
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