Chain Reaction
Oct. 1st, 2006 09:07 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rinueI carry my tension in my shoulders; I always have. It lives in the junction between neck, arms, and back; it feels hot to the touch. I think of it as Chemistry, as pressure pushing molecules together; pressure creates heat, a friction of atoms. Perhaps there are reactions; perhaps the reactions pull electrons from the surrounding tissue. Perhaps this cascades.
For some reason, trail mix seems to help. Many are the times I set off to work with a bag of dried fruits and nuts, carefully hand prepared by Val; backstage visitors could find me on headset, whispering instructions through a mouth full of pecans. Yesterday, I settled for raisins and cashews from Mark's and Spencer. Inferior, but adequate. It gives me the energy to keep my arms pulled apart, to keep them from bending back and in.
I'm good at making decisions; I'm good at enacting decisions. I'm bad at the moment in between, the hovering pause at the top of the roller coaster. Yesterday was nothing but that moment, from beginning to end. I spent most of the day helping run a casting session for someone else's film, endless consultations of "who would you choose" and the knowledge that my choices didn't matter; that the choices weren't mine; that there would be more casting sessions. That perhaps none of these people would be cast.
The situation is much the same with my soon-to-be apartment; lots of decisions, lots of "this is what will happen" and none of it happening for another week. For now, I'm left with more speculation and just as little data.
And then there's the other waiting game, which isn't a game, which is life-sized important. Which is perhaps definite, but is still not definite enough that I feel I can talk without jinxing it. So I walk around with my breath held for the scream that may not be coming.
Sometimes, it's awful to know what you want.
For some reason, trail mix seems to help. Many are the times I set off to work with a bag of dried fruits and nuts, carefully hand prepared by Val; backstage visitors could find me on headset, whispering instructions through a mouth full of pecans. Yesterday, I settled for raisins and cashews from Mark's and Spencer. Inferior, but adequate. It gives me the energy to keep my arms pulled apart, to keep them from bending back and in.
I'm good at making decisions; I'm good at enacting decisions. I'm bad at the moment in between, the hovering pause at the top of the roller coaster. Yesterday was nothing but that moment, from beginning to end. I spent most of the day helping run a casting session for someone else's film, endless consultations of "who would you choose" and the knowledge that my choices didn't matter; that the choices weren't mine; that there would be more casting sessions. That perhaps none of these people would be cast.
The situation is much the same with my soon-to-be apartment; lots of decisions, lots of "this is what will happen" and none of it happening for another week. For now, I'm left with more speculation and just as little data.
And then there's the other waiting game, which isn't a game, which is life-sized important. Which is perhaps definite, but is still not definite enough that I feel I can talk without jinxing it. So I walk around with my breath held for the scream that may not be coming.
Sometimes, it's awful to know what you want.
