You keep trying to get back what you lost and more’s flying out the door.
I've come to realize just how much I love New England, particularly around this time of year when the temperature is just low enough to make gloves a prudent idea. When the leaves are in the midst of their seasonal migration from tree branches to front yards. And when you have to sneak out early to see the setting sun splash the sky with purples and reds and pinks.
The move back to CT has proven particularly therapeutic and perhaps it is a bit of cosmic coincidence that now is the time when I've finally found time to return to this refuge (re: blog) and update with something vaguely resembling regularity.
I'm not meant for New York. It upsets my insides. It's a wonderful city, but it started to feel like chocolate I'd gorged myself on and now whenever I walk past a chocolaterie, the urge to regurgitate my lunch passes in waves over me. With time, it'll subside, but for now, I needed to get away. The Black Dog, like the leaves, had begun its seasonal migration and for the past few months has been dutifully moonlighting as my own personal shadow.
But I'm back and after a disastrous NaNoWriMo run, I feel cleansed. I feel like I've returned to form, and I think I have my full 8 days of sobriety to thank for that.
I think, in the end, I was weary. Wearied by life in the City that Never Slept, wearied by my lack of progress with getting Sons of Eden; in the hands of an agent, wearied by various insufficiencies in my writing, wearied by financial and familial woes. And to be home, swallowed by familiar routines like an afternoon walk to the library on a pathway of fallen foliage, has proven the proper medicine for my spiritual maladies.
For instance, in the past two days, I've written 50 pages of screenplay and powered through to finish a project. Pending a short paper and a four-paged scene about quantum immortality, I'll have completed my workload for the semester.
I've laughed harder than I've laughed since this previous summer and I've consumed more food in the past three days than I had in the past three months.
I think I'd grown accustomed to falling, to the routine of the descent and there was a certain security in the bottomlessness of it. But now, with the urging of various family and friends, I've begun the slow ascent out of the pit and have reversed my course so that the light lies at the end of my journey rather than the darkness.
I like it better this way. And so does my recently-shaved face.
LiveJournal Tags: life after yale,dispatches from film school,craft