Tinker, Roll (So,)
I am not built for this.
I am a school girl who needs eight hours of sleep before a big day of life. I always have been. And, I have never wanted to do that college-cram, burn-the-midnight-oil, on-a-project-non-stop-until-I-die type, early-grave sort, of thing. Some people find those sort of all-nighter, dashed things exciting. They think thereís something romantic about it all.
Any day that does not include 8 hours of sleep sounds like the worst day of my life.
Seriously, my eyelids are too heavy for this shit. Probably because they are muscular and magical. Or something. Anyway,
Production meeting tonight, which actually ended mostly on time but felt like it was five hours long because I was all eye-lids of lead and stuff.
Rewind about 24 hours. A time in this crazy world when I was tired, but not this tired. (Which would mean we are still on the subject of The First of the Month, BTW. I do know how you love that day. In fact, my posts regarding The First of the Month are the main reason you now visit JSDC. I know this because I hacked your brain. Twice. This parenthetical is almost as long as The First of the MonthÖ)
I was screenwriting a lot and messing with formatting and so forth. Copy fitting is like second nature to me. I canít say enough about how words are positioned. No, I really canít.
Three people offered to read my screenplay this week. I wanted to take them up on it, at the same time in particular, so I had to get them a copy.
I drank four fraps and was up until 4 am tinkering. I thought about just going to Kinkos in the middle of the morning-night. That's when I found out that the Kinkos I use is not 24 hours on a Sunday.
So I went to bed for three hours and woke up at 7. Having to be up north on the beach by 9, this was as long as I could risk sleeping. So I got up at 7. I never do that.
I mean, that is early.
So I got up at 7 and stumbled around and packed up what I needed and hugged the to-be-printed screenplay close and M.Sto called to make sure that I had gotten up and I had so I rolled into Kinkoís with sunglasses on and a tired, ďplease, help meĒ voice in effect.
So the lady was cool and helped me out by simply doing her job. More workers should try that.
So then I went to the thing I had to do all day and went to the bank on my way home before picking up my printing at 4 and FedEx-ing it all in one amazing swoop.
As the screenplays disappeared into the FedEx bin, I had to admit that there is nothing I can do now: They have been released into the world and I must wait for them to return to me with constructive criticism.
Or words of hatred and disappointment.
(It really depends on the eye of the beholder, you see.)
These three beholders will get the 137 copy next business day tomorrow morning. What they say could be helpful as I trim (or don't trim) away as many more pages as possible. I am hoping for five more. This means it will probably be like, two more.
So after saying goodbye to the released FedEx-es, I came home really tired and knew I needed a nap. The sort of nap that lasts all night and into the next day.
But I didnít have time because I had to take a shower and go over a design with M.Sto and read my e-mails and make sure that no one was being unawesome on the JSDC comments.
So then I cruised over to the valley for a production meeting. I had Pringles and orange juice and pudding pops and fraps all to keep me awake.
I soon discovered that these foods are not on my side.
Right now I should have twenty pages of lines memorized.
But I am all leaden and shit. I blame the orange juice.
I have to get up at 7AM.
M.Sto, can you call me in late to school so I can sleep in or what?
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Non Omnis Moriar
Hey whatís the opposite of death?
You donít know.
Or, do you?
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Londontown is Walking
Haud ignota loquor.
I think we all know what theyíre trying to do.
Mr. Blairís statement was brief, but better than any politicianís speech regarding intimidation that I have heard. His demeanor impressed upon me that he genuinely cares and has been affected by the reminder that:
The shadows are cast. Things are always in motion and have been so before our time and will be so beyond a time when there is someone to dig our graves. Face it, my friend, our lives are at risk everyday; a part of a larger whole, also at risk. All of the stories we read Ė the myths, the histories, the prophecies Ė are based on, and understood because of, a fundamental human truth in relation to the large: Those things can happen and there may come a moment when the smoke is on your hands and clothes, too.
But the world is no different a place than we make it everyday. We ignore how small or large we are in comparison and context.
Kings Cross is all too familiar.
Would I go to London today and ride the tube when it opens tomorrow?
When they try to intimidate us, we will not be intimidated.
I wish I were there.
Itís home away.
Our resolve will hold firm.
I congratulate London on their Olympic bid.
Our values will long outlast theirs.
And I congratulate those who strive to hold their place in the world by the ways of the light.
ďWherever I go, everyone is a little bit safer because I am there.
Wherever I am, anyone in need has a friend.
Whenever I return home, everyone is happy I am there.Ē
That is how you win.
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Peanut Butter Stover is old, but I don't see it.
The scientist says that Peanutís kidneys are failing.
The scientist says that in present times cats often outlive their kidneys.
The scientist says that it could be hereditary. Peanutís mom, Alf, died of kidney failure, too.
The scientist says that it is a fairly late stage.
We grew up together, you know. Me and Peanut?
She was a kitten and I was a kid and she darted into my room every morning and woke me upÖ I used to monologue to her in the sixth grade. We played Ninja Cat. I met her the day after she was born.
I thought we were growing up together.
Oh, I donít mind her going on ahead. She is old.
But Iím not in Virginia.
So she is already far away.
Still, Peanut, I donít mind if you go on ahead a ways.
Just wait for me a little, k?
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It is all happening today.
All the way in Virginia the little kitty that was my friend died and was buried in the backyard.
When last I was home, she sat at my open window while I wrote Speak of the Weather.
It was before a storm.
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I give up.
I have nothing else to give.
Iím at the edge of ability,
Itís still not enough.
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