Cockblocked

I don't know what the future holds ... the more I think about it, the more I lose the belief that I do know.

Every so often my dreams come crashing down. I want to be a screenwriter. I want to be a director. I want to have a work of art stick around after I've kicked the bucket. I have dozens upon dozens of ideas that could be made into films or plays or TV series. But those ideas are always cockblocked by the refusal of my peers to cooperate with me and wait out the chaos in order to see the end triumph.

What will happen to me if I really do fail? Will I be allowed a quick, merciful death? Will I be rewarded for my efforts in a way different from what I was looking for? Or will I be dragged through another century of the same old crap?

So far there is only one person that can make everything right. She walked away from me a long time ago, never to return.

Another Year

Here I sit wondering whether a blog for my company was a good idea on top of everything else I have to do. I am not a blogger by nature .... very rarely do I have something prepared to spew out in text for all the world to see (or not see, of course), because it takes so damn long for my thoughts to click into place and form a speech I feel satisfied with.

Life is non-fiction. If there's one thing I suck at writing, it's non-fiction. And that makes sense, because:
"You can't just create fiction, and let it replace your reality. If you want something to happen, don't imagine it, just do it." - musician / philosopher Susan Waycik

That's the mantra I live by. I can't spend hours and hours explaining to people what I'm working on. I show them instead. Or at least I try.

Dropping this barely-breathing blog like a hot potato, however, is an entirely different story.