The Chemistry of Stuck*

In Film, Hautvoir, humeurs, Local projects, proto drafts on January 25, 2016 at 8:24 am

My brain waking me at three am to the sound of “fairy tales can come true, it will happen to you, if you’re young at heart“? In no way contributed to the lifting of the funk.

The kind of funk I wish to escape, but can’t, if even in sleep time the jester comes along to poke fun without provoking the slightest bit of merriment in my chemistry.

Low, low tide. This is a fact. Last night’s visit did nothing to raise the spirits. “I’d rather do the one-week training in another town,” the young man told me. This, after I got turned down in my attempts at finding him something here. He’d prefer Albi or Toulouse. As the ancient Greeks liked to say, I sat a bull on my tongue. Had I not, I might have said something of exceeding rudeness. Thanks to the heavy bull, I settled for informing him I had no useful contacts in those two towns, I’d speak to his class leader and good luck to him.

Be it in story or in real life, I feel like I’m dragging a dead weight up an endless hill. I’d gladly drop the dead weight, except I can’t find the way to do so since I am both the dragger and the dragged. Do I want to be stuck in an endless, useless grind? No. Do I have a clue which way to go for relief, respite, a lift up to less oppressive moods? I’ll settle for real, substantive improvements at any level whatsoever. At this point, life and writing stare back at one another while I wash dishes, make useless phone calls and wonder why everything has turned out so heavy, graceless and grumpy – no matter how much of a happy face I stick on my features, like the one Eleanor Rigby kept in a jar by the door. (The other day, someone told me my good humor was an inspiration. I suppose my manner matched the compliment. I seem gifted when it comes to the happy public face.)

So. If you’re going to delve in noir, at least, make it good?

If I could, I’d walk out of here, and board a bus. The camera would pull back in a long shot taking in the sunset. The words The End would appear and the credits would roll.

Except, in real life, I’d be on the bus and wondering: Now what.

*A place nobody likes, least of all the stuck ones. I’d rather be amusing, if only to amuse myself.


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