I’ve been absent from the blog world for a week now. It’s that pesky ennui that’s raised it’s ugly head once again – this time a dichotomous cocktail combo of equal parts fuckitol, bliss and adrenaline – served up over copious amounts of cold beer.
I don’t really want to get into the details of the show I’m working on, mostly because I’m still working on it. But suffice to say we are a major motion picture with big name stars and the ‘studio’ we’re working with is consistently famous for not delivering their part of the bargain – the money – on time. And I work in accounting. So one could see the conflict of interest were I to divulge lots of sensitive info.
We’ve been shut down six times. SIX! Making a movie is like building a small city, starting from absolutely nothing but thin air and cranking out an infrastructure for a medium-sized metropolis in a matter of about five weeks. And to build it takes lots of human effort, resources, time and M-O-N-E-Y. Big money. Tracking the money required to make a movie is like being timed by the final countdown of a rocketship outside your bedroom window while juggling and trying to shove millions of dollars through a leaky pipeline the circumference of a garden hose all at the same time – and that’s just on a movie with no problems.
Half of my work day on this particular circus is spent quite literally chasing my tail . . . can’t track what’s not paid, can’t pay without money, can’t deliver estimates and reports when everything is starting, stopping and then lurching forward again – only to be cut off again because no one is getting paid. And let’s face it . . . all of us who’ve joined up with the circus that is filmmaking love it . . . but at the end of the bloody, sweaty, tear-filled day . . . we want our goddamned paychecks.
I’m just fried. My brain is kaput. I cannot even speak in coherent sentences these days. I even managed to forget that the summer solstice was June 20. It’s eat, work, work, work, beer, jager bombs, sleep (fitfully), coffee and how did I manage to turn all three fucking alarms off and not remember – again?
Not that I haven’t been party to many interesting episodes of hilarity, debauchery and good ole fashioned trouble, because with me, that’s an absolute given. Details forthcoming somehow . . . oh don’t ya’ll worry. I’m having a good time here, despite the grueling work schedule. I’m happy and laughing, making new friends and moving through life at warp speed.
But all of these high-highs and low-lows are causing my brain to process at the speed of X plus 2 = lettuce. Maybe it’s the seven days of work in a row. Maybe it’s angst inside me welling up because after this clusterf*ck ends, I’m not really sure where I’m going to live next. Yet somehow I feel extraordinarily free, like my arms are wide open and I’m standing in the middle of a field with a gentle breeze blowing and I’m breathing deep, deep breaths.
At the end of the day, I probably wouldn’t change any of this miracle that I’ve created for myself – it’s just that sometimes, the ability to speak/think escapes me.