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You'd say I'm putting you on
Jun. 22nd, 2007 11:00 pmI have a backlog of stuff to write down - notes and observations and entry structures - but I'm too tired. I've been too tired for a few days, a combination of early mornings, restless nights, and physically demanding work. I've moved buildings, which adds about half an hour to my already high total daily walking time, and I've been recording sound, which I love, but which can take a lot of strength and muscle control. It's been building up slowly, and I'm partly to blame, but at this point, the idea that a person could ever be well-rested seems mythical and unrealistic. Of the past three weekends, I think I've had one off. I'll be working this weekend too.
At this point, the work that's left is mostly the stuff I don't enjoy - titles, grading, sound balance, screenings. The reason I didn't sleep last night is that I got a sample from my composer, which, while lovely, was wrong for the film; I spent about four hours hunting down samples of John Cage percussion works. I think I've made myself clear now, but I thought I'd made myself clear before, so now I'm nervous. Then I had to wake up five hours later to meet with people to see whether I have a place to live after the 1st; that occupied a lot of the day and is still inconclusive.
This is my least favorite time: well past the term's midpoint but not in the home stretch; four weeks left to go. Not pushing forward anymore so much as anticipating a still-distant end. The prosaic four-weeks-left business of buying plane tickets, finding storage space, informing bank accounts and utilities. After this, perhaps two months of limbo in Boston with Ciro working full time - or maybe not in Boston at all; I still don't know and can't plan more than the rudimentary "find someplace to write, and then actually write."
I need a haircut and my jeans don't fit.
I've been working flat out for the past few weeks, and it's all been lonely work with delayed gratification and ambiguous results. I'll have recuperated by next week.
At this point, the work that's left is mostly the stuff I don't enjoy - titles, grading, sound balance, screenings. The reason I didn't sleep last night is that I got a sample from my composer, which, while lovely, was wrong for the film; I spent about four hours hunting down samples of John Cage percussion works. I think I've made myself clear now, but I thought I'd made myself clear before, so now I'm nervous. Then I had to wake up five hours later to meet with people to see whether I have a place to live after the 1st; that occupied a lot of the day and is still inconclusive.
This is my least favorite time: well past the term's midpoint but not in the home stretch; four weeks left to go. Not pushing forward anymore so much as anticipating a still-distant end. The prosaic four-weeks-left business of buying plane tickets, finding storage space, informing bank accounts and utilities. After this, perhaps two months of limbo in Boston with Ciro working full time - or maybe not in Boston at all; I still don't know and can't plan more than the rudimentary "find someplace to write, and then actually write."
I need a haircut and my jeans don't fit.
I've been working flat out for the past few weeks, and it's all been lonely work with delayed gratification and ambiguous results. I'll have recuperated by next week.
