Yeah. I finished half of my book.
It’s a lot. I sometimes scroll back and it’s quite odd that I wrote all of that. Not the quality of it(god no) just the sheer quantity. It’s just a mass of SOMETHING heading towards you like an iceberg.
Am I happy with it?
I like it.
I’d read it.
It reads like I talk. It’s got weirdness in it. But hopefully something with a meaning as well.
I’m gonna fly to Canada in February. A new life… I wonder… Just where you can end up with yourself. Is this a happy thing I’m doing? What would you trade it against? I often think if we’d have like gambling tables, but you could trade your life experiences for other ones. What would I trade? What wouldn’t you want to keep? I can think plenty I’d be happy to get rid of.
That’s a good short story right there! Gotta remember that one.
Tomorrow I’m gonna show my movie to the people who helped to make it. I’ll just hit play and then smoke in the kitchen. Showing the things I’ve made always fills me with great dread and fear.. Still, my family liked it and they’re always brutally honest about everything.
So that’s a good sign.
I’m happy. You can’t make a movie and NOT be happy. You can’t write half of your book and NOT be happy. You’re adding life to your life and that’s always amazing. Sometimes it’s possible to remove yourself and stare at the “I”, creating and actively +1’ing yourself. It’s a surreal experience.
I’ve been thinking of shutting down the blog. There’s lots I’m not yet sure about. Figuring it out. Feels wrong to write about it. When you write it down, you set it in stone. It can give a finality to your feelings. This is why I don’t like diaries and the like. You’ll always be so mercurial and writing about yourself can so easily turn into a cage where you write your own bars.