Keeping it short and sweet. This isn’t some groveling cry for help or any of that happy horse shit; it’s a laundry list of why I’ve got a hair across my ass these days:
Work has never been less fulfilling in my entire life. I’ve finally found a script I want to produce after four years on the job and I expect my boss to either a) pass on it or b) drag his feet and/or low-ball the writer till it slips between our fingers. If I can’t be involved with this film I don’t see how I can stay with the company.
My weird anxiety-related breathing thing has passed (x-rays prove my lungs are fine) but now I’m pretty much popping Xanax like they’re M&M’s. I realize I’d rather be numb than feel anything close to what I’m feeling right now. But that’s okay right, because nothing bad can come from a prescription drug habit, right? Thank God I lose my appetite when I’m depressed. The last thing I want to deal with right now is being fat.
Oh, the Sox totally suck balls. I knew they’d implode but I sort of thought it would be the pitching doing them in, per, I dunno MY ENTIRE HISTORY WITH THE TEAM. Instead, I’m listening to Dice-K and Beckett throw 3-hitter gems while a bunch of overpaid crybabies can’t hit the fucking ball with a runner on 3rd with 1 out. Manny’s contract can’t run-out soon enough. I actually found myself getting excited the other day over the thought of the Sox paying Scott Boras’ 30-million a year ransom for A-Rod next year; how fucked is that?
The script that I’m 50+ pages into writing, the one that was supposed to reveal how much range I had as a writer because it’s such a dramatic departure from the self-indulgent dogshit I usually write… yeah well it stalled. I’m literally terrified to write anything else. Haven’t written more than a paragraph in weeks.
I realized the other day that the highlight of my day is when I go to bed. Really. I used to look down my nose at my sister when she was in highschool and would spend all day hiding from the world in her bed. But I really do get it now: sleep is easier than life. Everything just goes away and when you wake up you have about 45-seconds where you forget just how awful the day before was and you feel like anything is possible. Actually that's the highpoint of my day and if they made it into a drug I’d spend my live savings on it till I more or less had the trajectory of John Belushi.
Nothing to watch on TV (obviously) but what’s really killing me is having to listen to people I respect and want to spend more time with tell me how Transformers “is just a fun summer movie.” Why has everyone’s standards become so low? Am I the only one who demands more than flashing lights and loud noises?
Something has to give. Something has to change. Soon.