Fuck it. I’ll journal tonight. Blog tonight. Bitch tonight. I actually had a fantastic, 9/10 day today. In despite waking up late. In despite writing this on my shitty keyboard at 3:15AM while Fia waits for me to get in bed. I could’ve ended this day with sex. Fia would’ve liked that. I told her that I need to ‘get work done.’ The plan is this: I finish this noir script. I shoot this noir script on the camera rig tomorrow evening. I edit it. I voice it. I finish a first cut. All in 24 hours. I told Fia tonight that my problem is letting shit incubate more. I need to drastically cut down on the time from conception to execution. If I can do that, I can increase my overall output. If I can do that, I can bloodlet the shitty ideas. Get more practice.
Fia is turning off the TV right now. I need to just get in bed. I was going to stay up and finish the script tonight, but I need to go to sleep. Fia said she doesn’t want to sleep in much tomorrow. I echo that sentiment. We slept until about noon today. That tends to happen on a weekend.
Instead of rambling about bullshit, I’m just going to stop this here. No profound statements to make. No insight into my subconscious. There’s only one thing I need to get off my chest:
I think Fia and I are going to be all right. She’s on her way to success. Her path is more trodden than mine. But that’s okay. I’m the moron who actually believed in “you can do anything.” I’d rather die than make that fail to make that true.