“Goodnight, sweetheart, goodnight.

Punch drunk tired. Came upstairs to go to sleep, ended up reading and finishing a book. So nice and quiet. Very easy to think and be still when the house is this quiet. I should open on of the windows, though. That little pitter patter of rain is so soothing.

Been in a weird mood for the past week. All rushed and stressed. Letting little thing and silly things get to me.

Need to take care of some things as well. Some unfinished business that I’ve been putting off, as I’m wont to do when it’s something difficult.

Basically, my sleep schedule is fucked. The past … maybe 2 weeks. I’m screwed, because I’ve been missing important things with friends, shit that needed to get done isn’t. And I’ve got the potential of two job interviews this week–and I’m going to look like a dope fiend with huge bags under my eyes.

*sigh*

So the entertainment for tonight’s allnighter was ‘Requiem for a Dream’.

I think, up until about 6 minutes before I started watching this movie, I was convinced that I was the most fucked up person within my sphere of acknowledgment.

Thanks Hubert Selby Jr. for making me taste a slice of ‘normal’.

This movie was really good. I loved the filmmakers approach. The way it was made. The story… was dark. I mean, dark. And that’s not really even how dark it was. It was dark. Great insomniac material, eh? ;o)

Other than that–life is. I don’t know who I am. I don’t know what my ‘plan’ is. I don’t know where I’ll be in five years. I’m not really positive I know where I’ll be in 5 months. I feel cut off (my own doing, I know and recognize that at least) and disassociated from.. not so much reality–but.. emotion. I’ve shut down.

I refuse to let anything in, except for the occasional good. But even that comes at a price. You can have people around you telling you what a fabulous person you are, and then that introspective portion of your mind clicks in and you’re wondering to yourself, “Who is it that they know? Who is it that I’m being–this person that so completely is not me. And why the hell are they interested in someone as fucked up as I am?”

Sounds depressing, doesn’t it? I dunno–I don’t feel it.

Plastic and fake. Crunchy outer shell. There’s a scary ass video out–some Celine Dion “I’m not dead yet, please let me sell another record” video and she looks absolutely terrifying. There’s something wrong with her face–it’s…just not right. You’ll have to see it to understand–especially the last 20 seconds of the video. Frightening. That outer shell that is her face–that’s sort of what I feel as though I’ve erected around me.

I dwell on the negative. I’ve thought about 30 times in the past 2 days, about a 2 second moment that happened the weekend before last.

I’m working on the script in fits and starts. I keep wondering if I ought to make it from the first two books, or have book two start out the film series–then combine book 1 and 3 for part two of the series–because book one and book two are fabulous stories–but about two completely different people/sets of people. With one recurring character that would/could tie them together.

This is where collaboration will be a blessing.