Do or Die

There is the great line in Shawshank Redemption, "Get busy living or get busy dying." I've always wanted to see a spoof where someone hears that, solemly nods and later we hear a gunshot off camera and a thump as he falls dead.

Summer is like that. Great enough weather to get the camera out, but maybe either my scripts aren't ready or the ones that are I haven't got the passion or specific mischeif to set about shooting. I thought for sure I would have shot my one about Siamese Twins by now. I won't mention the specific element that sets them apart from "Stuck on You." But even if I like my satire, once I've communicated it in a script I need to be driven to get past that.

Recently I had a tooth problem solved, and it reminded me how little I have to complain about. Most of my complaints originate with my choice to eat the wrong food and do too little exercise. I'm oddly not uncomfortable, but adrift and the current is taking me farther away from the reason to exist - whatever efforts I have invested my life in.

Film directing and writing are the main passions, but it seems to take a bit longer now. Some actors are great and accessible only for shorts. Others would pay thousands of dollars to take acting courses or improve exercises but then insist on being paid to make a movie that will actually give them something decent (if not the only item) on their reel. One thing I know is that time is ticking and there is kind of a deadline. I feel myself becoming somewhat more misanthropic, set apart, and in the wrong position to direct the attention of an audience and expect success.

I will very soon lose all interest in some of the simpler and sharper ideas that at least a handful of people enjoy. I should be married and have kids by now, but more importantly I should be able to support them with an excellent moviemaking career. The disease is enough that I hardly even look at the stage plays I've written, much less made the effort to book a space and start rehearsals. Maybe because movies are the white whale that will eventually kill me.

I've started reading The Dark Side of Genius about Alfred Hitchcock, figuring that should help keep me grounded nicely. Whether or not grounding is the thing I need. I'm sedated. Maybe as a result of too many pills. I have to get a passport, a new doctor, some acupuncture to the backs of my legs, and a reason to set foot out side of Ontarion for the first time in my adult life. I thought living in Toronto was a leap, but I still find a comfortable groove. I'm too accepting. I wonder what will happen when I finally snap.