not ascetic enough
I don't know. I kind of feel like I disappeared for about the last week or so. Coming out of being sick, crazy stresses, the (still unattended) lost-footage issue on Every Room is Empty, everything just piled up high and I couldn't see my way out. When the pile shrank a little (I got over being sick, the photo shoot for Brian was complete), I sunk into the narcotic of computer games (I made the poor decision to "borrow" my copy of Civilization IV from my parents' place and install it on my home Mac) and didn't resurface. I ate poorly. I ignored my free gym membership. I spent 10 hours a day in my room with the door shut. I slept... whenever.
Somehow in the middle of all that, though, I managed to see Synecdoche, New York, get drunk twice, see The Dark Knight for a third time (warning to all: the Laurelhurst seems to have the wrong sound-mix print for their setup and all you can hear is the score; it's like a gritty urban opera, but more frustrating than that makes it sound), and continue working at Laika. Still, I didn't log in to Livejournal and I didn't write a word, not even dubious notes-to-self about story ideas. I just... switched off.
Yesterday, I told myself, I was back. This had to end, this ridiculous routine. But then I discovered that my iPhone's headphones were dying, playing tinny low-volume crap instead of the boomy rockin' tunes I wanted to hear. It was like AM radio turned down. (Do they still have AM radio? Will they in five years?) This effectively killed my return to life by making it all too easy to justify one more gymless night.
So today, after work, I made myself act. I bought headphones (and while out, saw Quantum of Solace) and then went straight to the gym for a brief forty-five minute re-introduction to moving my body. The new headphones are great: I hadn't realized how long I'd been allowing dwindling volume to spoil my portable musical experience.
Before the gym, before James Bond, I sat for about an hour in the underground food court at Pioneer Place and alternated pages of William Gibson's Spook Country with pages of notes to myself about why I can't just up and start writing Uncanny Valley just yet. In a nutshell: I don't know my character, and if I don't know where he starts I can't really plot where he ends, or how he gets there. Kind of a big element to be missing after stewing with a story for nine years or whatever.
So now, maybe I'm back. I woke my shit up. I still have to write, not to mention edit!, but my brain feels like today, the vacation's over.
I have a feeling I'm going to have to take Civ IV back down to King City and leave it there, at least for now: I'll only allow myself to play it once every other week or so, when I go down and visit my brother and parents.
Man, if only I had that kind of self-control with you, my lovely Internet.
Somehow in the middle of all that, though, I managed to see Synecdoche, New York, get drunk twice, see The Dark Knight for a third time (warning to all: the Laurelhurst seems to have the wrong sound-mix print for their setup and all you can hear is the score; it's like a gritty urban opera, but more frustrating than that makes it sound), and continue working at Laika. Still, I didn't log in to Livejournal and I didn't write a word, not even dubious notes-to-self about story ideas. I just... switched off.
Yesterday, I told myself, I was back. This had to end, this ridiculous routine. But then I discovered that my iPhone's headphones were dying, playing tinny low-volume crap instead of the boomy rockin' tunes I wanted to hear. It was like AM radio turned down. (Do they still have AM radio? Will they in five years?) This effectively killed my return to life by making it all too easy to justify one more gymless night.
So today, after work, I made myself act. I bought headphones (and while out, saw Quantum of Solace) and then went straight to the gym for a brief forty-five minute re-introduction to moving my body. The new headphones are great: I hadn't realized how long I'd been allowing dwindling volume to spoil my portable musical experience.
Before the gym, before James Bond, I sat for about an hour in the underground food court at Pioneer Place and alternated pages of William Gibson's Spook Country with pages of notes to myself about why I can't just up and start writing Uncanny Valley just yet. In a nutshell: I don't know my character, and if I don't know where he starts I can't really plot where he ends, or how he gets there. Kind of a big element to be missing after stewing with a story for nine years or whatever.
So now, maybe I'm back. I woke my shit up. I still have to write, not to mention edit!, but my brain feels like today, the vacation's over.
I have a feeling I'm going to have to take Civ IV back down to King City and leave it there, at least for now: I'll only allow myself to play it once every other week or so, when I go down and visit my brother and parents.
Man, if only I had that kind of self-control with you, my lovely Internet.