Crush Your Gripes (have some wine)

I don’t understand people who do not improve at their job.  I work with someone who pretends to intelligent, but all of their actions lead me to believe the opposite – that my co-worker is, in fact, unintelligent and lazy.  The thing I noticed this week is driving me crazy.  This person walks really slow when they’re on the clock, but when it’s time to go home -look out- this person’ll bowl you over in their rush to leave.

I can’t tolerate people who drag their ass (or heels) all day long and mope about in the misery they’ve managed to create for themselves.

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Art is Misunderstanding the Misrepresentation of Misinterpretation (You know what I mean?)

I am the strangest person I know, being privy to all my thoughts and what not.  Moody, manic, detached, maniacal.  Sometimes I lose all control, but am not a wild man, nor am I violent.  I speak my mind with almost no regard for consequence.  I am not really afraid of what might happen if I spoke, but I am terrified of what might happen had I kept my mouth closed.  Wisdom, no.  Silence begets mistrust.  I need more time.  More time to write.  More time to exorcise these friggin’ demons.  I can’t stand it much longer.  I don’t want to commit to a life that is not mine.  I don’t want to work at something just a little left of meaningless.  Frustrated, deep-rooted disjointedness…why do I fight myself?  I am not the only one with battlescars.  My conflict is not contained to myself, were it so, it would be nearly harmless.  I impact others.  I affect their ways.  The ideology of the conflict is a muddled riddle of tongues.  If you’re adventurous, you naturally learn to stetch the truth, decieve, lie – because the sedate among us can’t relate, so hate excitement, because the worriers among us can’t relate, so hate danger.  It’s all deceiving.  Everything from the ground upon which I stand to the stars at which I stare.  Nothing is what I see.  The space between the two is art.  I don’t like art.  The over glorification of one’s own art marks the beginning of the end for said one.  This is sooth.

Don’t Ask What I’m Up To?

I’ve realized that it isn’t worth talking about screen writing. 

I spend a good deal of my time thinking about, reading about and actually writing.  The people closest to me would say I am consumed with it.  Fine.  This is something I’ve decided I am going to achieve and I will work on it until I do so.  However, I spent a good deal of time in university (6 full credits) on writing.  I ‘ve spent the last four years fine tuning my craft.  I’ve agonized over it.  I’ve lost sleep.  I’ve been so excited I could barely contain myself.  I’ve written four feature-length screenplays (three with partner).  I think I am getting close to being a capable screenwriter.  It’s more work than you think.

So, if all you’ve done is thought about writing a script…keep it to yourself.  I’m not interested in what you’re not doing.  Your mentioning it is belittling to my efforts.  You are not in my category of aspiring screenwriter.