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rinue(Or: Vizzini Said Go Back to the Beginning. This is the Beginning.)
Predictably, I woke up in a sorry physical state - another night of not sleeping much, sore shoulders from hunching over the laptop I've wedged on to the windowsill - the only place I get reliable signal. Nauseated, still, though over the last six hours I've managed to work up from refusing even water, to a couple of mechanically force-eaten pastries, a thimble of jam, and, just now, the day's first cup of tea.
After hours of research and pondering, the facts are clear: London Film School is still the best one, and the only one that interests me. There is no doubt in my mind that if I graduate from LFS, I will go on to the acclaimed and successful career of my choosing. I will also, while here, produce a lot of work that makes me proud. The school is still expensive; living in London is still expensive. I'd make the money back. Those are the facts.
The Boston film market is bland, although better than Dallas - better than Austin. Enough festivals to keep things interesting. A regrettable number of New Englanders (you may wonder at this point whether there is a people, or a location, in the world that I like. The answer is unfortunately no.) - but an accompanying population of non-natives. (I do enjoy transplants.) A strong music scene - lots of bands for whom to make music videos, the classic non-scholastic (and often scholastic) route to film legend.
The real problem - the real difficulty in asking me to make any kind of decision - is that people don't seem to believe the paucity of my ambition. I'd like enough money to get by on - $30,000 a year would be luxurious - and I'd like to make cool stuff and show it to people. "Cool stuff" covers anything from a doodle on a napkin to a blockbuster film, hit song, or the fabled Great American Novel; "people" could be an audience of millions, or an elderly couple at a corner coffee shop. Nobody has to know I'm the one who made it.
I'd like to spend a lot of time with Ciro; I'd like him to be happy, or at least not miserable. I don't know how hard that will be; he is ambitious. I'd like to look at beautiful things regularly, at my leisure, which is easy because there are a lot of them, and not everyone knows it. I'd like a home that's attractive and comfortable. I'd like to be surrounded by good-natured people who like me and are excited about what they're doing. I wouldn't mind having children eventually, to keep life interesting. I'd like to live a long time, to remain in good health. I'd like a lot of free time; I'd like to be left to my own devices. My desires are not complex or unusual.
This seems to trouble people, and gets me lectured a lot. It scared the hell out of Patrick, and out of Raine. Mom seems to get it; so do REL and Tom. Uncle Rex and Dad still think it's part of some master plan that I will unspring at a later date. I don't know Ciro's feelings on the subject.
Mostly, I keep hearing that I should think of the long run - figure out not what makes me happy now, but what would make me happy later. I must admit that sounds productive. If only it were possible...
Oh.
This whole thing is about autism. Visual thinking and Asperger's Syndrome. I can't feel the passage of time; now is always. My wants are unusual because they are built around non-neurotypical thinking needs. This last paragraph has taken me almost an hour, because I hit sensory overload and lost language skills. (Switched off the music to help, but then a thunderstorm broke outside.) Oh, of course. Why didn't anyone tell me?
I bet Thoreau was autistic.
Predictably, I woke up in a sorry physical state - another night of not sleeping much, sore shoulders from hunching over the laptop I've wedged on to the windowsill - the only place I get reliable signal. Nauseated, still, though over the last six hours I've managed to work up from refusing even water, to a couple of mechanically force-eaten pastries, a thimble of jam, and, just now, the day's first cup of tea.
After hours of research and pondering, the facts are clear: London Film School is still the best one, and the only one that interests me. There is no doubt in my mind that if I graduate from LFS, I will go on to the acclaimed and successful career of my choosing. I will also, while here, produce a lot of work that makes me proud. The school is still expensive; living in London is still expensive. I'd make the money back. Those are the facts.
The Boston film market is bland, although better than Dallas - better than Austin. Enough festivals to keep things interesting. A regrettable number of New Englanders (you may wonder at this point whether there is a people, or a location, in the world that I like. The answer is unfortunately no.) - but an accompanying population of non-natives. (I do enjoy transplants.) A strong music scene - lots of bands for whom to make music videos, the classic non-scholastic (and often scholastic) route to film legend.
The real problem - the real difficulty in asking me to make any kind of decision - is that people don't seem to believe the paucity of my ambition. I'd like enough money to get by on - $30,000 a year would be luxurious - and I'd like to make cool stuff and show it to people. "Cool stuff" covers anything from a doodle on a napkin to a blockbuster film, hit song, or the fabled Great American Novel; "people" could be an audience of millions, or an elderly couple at a corner coffee shop. Nobody has to know I'm the one who made it.
I'd like to spend a lot of time with Ciro; I'd like him to be happy, or at least not miserable. I don't know how hard that will be; he is ambitious. I'd like to look at beautiful things regularly, at my leisure, which is easy because there are a lot of them, and not everyone knows it. I'd like a home that's attractive and comfortable. I'd like to be surrounded by good-natured people who like me and are excited about what they're doing. I wouldn't mind having children eventually, to keep life interesting. I'd like to live a long time, to remain in good health. I'd like a lot of free time; I'd like to be left to my own devices. My desires are not complex or unusual.
This seems to trouble people, and gets me lectured a lot. It scared the hell out of Patrick, and out of Raine. Mom seems to get it; so do REL and Tom. Uncle Rex and Dad still think it's part of some master plan that I will unspring at a later date. I don't know Ciro's feelings on the subject.
Mostly, I keep hearing that I should think of the long run - figure out not what makes me happy now, but what would make me happy later. I must admit that sounds productive. If only it were possible...
Oh.
This whole thing is about autism. Visual thinking and Asperger's Syndrome. I can't feel the passage of time; now is always. My wants are unusual because they are built around non-neurotypical thinking needs. This last paragraph has taken me almost an hour, because I hit sensory overload and lost language skills. (Switched off the music to help, but then a thunderstorm broke outside.) Oh, of course. Why didn't anyone tell me?
I bet Thoreau was autistic.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2006-10-21 11:13 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-10-22 01:16 am (UTC)Really, I'm sorry for popping off with a random comment. You've been on my mind a lot lately, but I haven't got anything to say that helps or does...anything. Take care?
(no subject)
Date: 2006-10-22 01:26 am (UTC)