I'm sitting at my kitchen table, calm and warm. I've had a couple of fairly normal days. No more rehearsal. No more fast food. No more gasping for air. I'm ignoring my cat. He can't decide whether he wants to be inside or outside. I'm making him stick to his original choice: outside. I'm also wondering what sort of wisdom, if any, I have to impart. I'm not sure.
Walking back to my house from school today reminded me of London: Spitting, cold rain, the smell of diesel as a truck or two passed, no umbrella. Nothing ever seems quite as clear as it does when I'm looking back at it. Even the moments that felt more alarmingly real, they look like raw film shots that have yet to be layered. If that makes any sense. I'm slowly learning about film by listening to my friends as they chat about it over storyboard drawing and motion graphic type headache work. But looking back on it all, it's art...in my brain...the finished product. I have no fascinating stories yet, I mean, I'm sure I do, in the recesses of my brain, but nothing comes to me right now.
I was thinking the other day, I don't really have ideas. I mean, I have ideas that are good ideas, but I don't have great ideas. I haven't been inspired by myself in...I don't know how long. Maybe my head's in the wrong place. Can anyone remember any really good ideas I've had in the past...two years?
You know what (my brain's a little fragmented right now)? It'd be nice to find people that aren't afraid of me. It'd be nice to never have to apologize for myself. It'd be nice to not get knocked down for a little while. It'd be nice to be able to let go. It'd be nice to be able to trust. Anyone. Ever.
That's as good as it gets right now.
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