There are two types of music I use to measure emotional states in my life.
Heartbreak = Bob Dylan's Blood On The Tracks. When I'm Tangled Up in Blue, that's the album I inevitably turn to. I even have a rule for its proper deployment: here it is:
One play, once a day. Do not exceed recommended dosage.
The last time I had trouble enforcing that rule was when I was in South Africa. I played Blood on the Tracks a few days ago and I was pleasantly surprised to realize that I hadn't needed it in a while. Not cause I'm drinking champagne out of the glass slipper with Ms Right, mind you, but just because...Ida know...didn't feel I needed it. It's almost...almost...become just another CD on the shelf.
My other crutch is another story. The other one is The White Album. I know that as a card carrying member of Baby Boom Deriders Inc, I should probably not be picking two iconic boomer artists and albums. But sadly, when I came up no one gave a crap about young people. I was imprinted. You go to war with the cultural touchstones you have.
It's when I find myself turning to some of the half lullabyes, and the soothing Lennon vocal on "I'm So Tired" that I know that I've run out the stress clock.
I have a lot of projects I'm juggling now. Every single one of them wants to demand my full attention -- or more. On some, I'm on my own. On others, I'm partnered with other people. My basic makeup means that in a pinch, I'll always defer to the projects where I've got other people along for the ride. Because people bug you. And I hate when people bug me. So I cave. I never know if that's the right decision or not.
I keep a diary of what I'm working on and when -- very informal, just so I can look back on what I've been doing and spending my time on. Generally, I'm pretty good at giving each project its due. I don't shortchange anything. But every time you have to switch gears, it's like retooling the whole plant.
The battle to make money and juggle artistic output is an inimical marriage at the best of times. But I'm tired. I'm tired of working weekends. I'm tired of the fact that I haven't taken any sort of vacation since about Sept of 2004. I'm tired that I have to switch gears every day, and sometimes more than once a day. I long to be busy in the focused way production brings -- one job. one show. one goal.
Development is -- even when it goes well -- such a crunching, driving, uphill process. Every time I read a spec from someone with talent who's nevertheless done a half-assed job, I wonder, "what's this person going to be like when they have to roll that boulder up the hill, day after day?"
Tomorrow may be shiny. But today it's a lot of 'what nows' and 'what nexts.' And lurking just behind is the knowledge that at some point I have to refresh my specs. Soon. Like, next two months, soon.
Doesn't sound like a lot of beach time in my future. This is why when you become a writer, there is nothing more important -- nothing -- than having a couple of people around who can always make you laugh.
They're so valuable, you should be able to deduct them on your taxes.
Oh well. Better go ... think. And blame Sir Walter Raleigh. He was such a stupid git.
3 comments:
All I can say is this:
"You are not alone."
(and that ELO's "Mr. Blue Sky" never fails to get me out of the stress and depression of the uphill boulder push. That and Queen's FLASH GORDON soundtrack)
Poor, Denis. It sounds like you need a hug.
KJC (who hasn't had a vacation -- which, to me, means one full day off -- since the summer of '98)
Be thankful you don't have an eight hour a day cubicle sentence to work through.
I shouldn't complain. My cubicle is very comfy and I manage to get all my procrastination done there, and pull off a decent amount of work in the evening.
But if I were you, I'd take my laptop to Mexico for a few days.
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