emotional shark
Yeah, so that pain last night? The toothache? Mounted a full-blown attack on my skull through the night and into the morning. Forced me to do the emergency dentist thing. New root canal in the works! Motherfuck, man. At least I'll be symmetrical, when I get them both done (full disclosure: at this point I am dreading the very distinct possibility that I will be told I need a fake tooth to replace the empty tooth-carcass on the right side... I am so paying for years of not taking my teeth seriously in the worst way now).
There are few things I hate more than being dentisted, honestly. And here's the thing: the least terrible part of the whole thing is actually being under the drill. At that point, you're drugged up and numb, you've got your eyes closed (and those 80s Brian Bosworth shades on) and your headphones on and you're blaring your They Might Be Giants or your Mountain Goats or whatever and you're -- yes, the truth is, you're picturing naked ladies. Nothing dirty, just picturing them. Because the odds of being aroused in that scenario? Not a problem, not a remote possibility. But picturing naked ladies is calming, and under that kind of pressure you take any calming road you can get.
Anyway, all that is to say, when you're being worked on it's easy. Loud music, a head full of naked ladies, and everything of note is numb. The real torture comes in two parts: the mental torment that is the anxiety building up to it (and the needles to numb you aren't the very best, though I'm getting better at just taking it); and the physical torment that is the so-much-worse-than-the-initial-toothache lingering pain after. They prescribed me fucking Motrin? Motrin is basically a double-dose of Advil. Fuck that. Thank you, leftover Oxycodone, for making Writing Group less than hell. When people started showing up I couldn't speak, I couldn't think straight, and I didn't want to be alive. I rubbed my sleeve on my jaw because the warmth was the only thing that I didn't out-and-out hate. The drugs kicked in and then it was a low discomfort, a stiffness and a throb, and it was distracting but I could talk, smile, laugh, and think.
So, yeah. I showed my boring and clunky 25 pages of Mexico tonight and did maybe my worst job ever pitching the full version, and still people liked it (the pitch they liked; the actual pages need a lot of work, so much that they were hard to critique). It was a big turnout, and it looks like it might continue in the future to be so. Just about maximum capacity, in fact. So that's good.
Now I'm off to eat my first solid meal in 24 hours, maybe watch a movie or something. Coming back from California things feel like they're moving faster, or at least like I have deadlines to meet and things on the horizon. I got a call from Sabra (who I need to call back) and she told me what specifically she wants from ERIE, so that's helpful. I need to talk to Lauren about Open footage (and Jon asked for a copy of a file tonight, for his reel). There's a chance I might get a studio space again -- it's all up in the air but talk has happened.
And I have until Friday to nail down a solid five pages and a full outline of Mexico (assuming that's still the requirements; I need to check). I have next-to-no hope that this script is Sundance-Institute-worthy, but I will admit I felt that way last time and I was a finalist, and this one, though darker and more "genre," has gotten significantly stronger positive reactions from people, and its outline and themes and arcs are all a lot more worked-out than Ellipsis's ever were, truth be told.
So, stuff. Keep me busy. No time to worry. No time to wonder why I'm single and lonely and fat and lazy. No time for that!
Quick, Travis, go get food before that train of thought leads anywhere!
There are few things I hate more than being dentisted, honestly. And here's the thing: the least terrible part of the whole thing is actually being under the drill. At that point, you're drugged up and numb, you've got your eyes closed (and those 80s Brian Bosworth shades on) and your headphones on and you're blaring your They Might Be Giants or your Mountain Goats or whatever and you're -- yes, the truth is, you're picturing naked ladies. Nothing dirty, just picturing them. Because the odds of being aroused in that scenario? Not a problem, not a remote possibility. But picturing naked ladies is calming, and under that kind of pressure you take any calming road you can get.
Anyway, all that is to say, when you're being worked on it's easy. Loud music, a head full of naked ladies, and everything of note is numb. The real torture comes in two parts: the mental torment that is the anxiety building up to it (and the needles to numb you aren't the very best, though I'm getting better at just taking it); and the physical torment that is the so-much-worse-than-the-initial-toothache lingering pain after. They prescribed me fucking Motrin? Motrin is basically a double-dose of Advil. Fuck that. Thank you, leftover Oxycodone, for making Writing Group less than hell. When people started showing up I couldn't speak, I couldn't think straight, and I didn't want to be alive. I rubbed my sleeve on my jaw because the warmth was the only thing that I didn't out-and-out hate. The drugs kicked in and then it was a low discomfort, a stiffness and a throb, and it was distracting but I could talk, smile, laugh, and think.
So, yeah. I showed my boring and clunky 25 pages of Mexico tonight and did maybe my worst job ever pitching the full version, and still people liked it (the pitch they liked; the actual pages need a lot of work, so much that they were hard to critique). It was a big turnout, and it looks like it might continue in the future to be so. Just about maximum capacity, in fact. So that's good.
Now I'm off to eat my first solid meal in 24 hours, maybe watch a movie or something. Coming back from California things feel like they're moving faster, or at least like I have deadlines to meet and things on the horizon. I got a call from Sabra (who I need to call back) and she told me what specifically she wants from ERIE, so that's helpful. I need to talk to Lauren about Open footage (and Jon asked for a copy of a file tonight, for his reel). There's a chance I might get a studio space again -- it's all up in the air but talk has happened.
And I have until Friday to nail down a solid five pages and a full outline of Mexico (assuming that's still the requirements; I need to check). I have next-to-no hope that this script is Sundance-Institute-worthy, but I will admit I felt that way last time and I was a finalist, and this one, though darker and more "genre," has gotten significantly stronger positive reactions from people, and its outline and themes and arcs are all a lot more worked-out than Ellipsis's ever were, truth be told.
So, stuff. Keep me busy. No time to worry. No time to wonder why I'm single and lonely and fat and lazy. No time for that!
Quick, Travis, go get food before that train of thought leads anywhere!