I spilled soda on my keyboard today and as a result, I have lost the ability to type the letter k. I know what you're thinking- bullsh*t, you're typing with the letter right now, liar liar pants on fire! But, for a change, I am being truthful. I've had to cut and paste k's for the past five hours while studying and it is getting old, to say the least.
Studying, just now, is getting old too, so I had to come up for air for a moment and get a little perspective. It's just feeling a little insane, and I am having the perfectly normal reactions to the stress. I've had the moments of doubt, the concerns that maybe I am, as Danny Glover would have remarked, too old for this sh*t. I have wondered what made me think this whole idea of going flat broke and moving away from San Francisco was at all wise.
But in those moments, I have let myself ask the question. Was it a mistake? Would I have been better off doing what I was doing, finding some other way of being happy? And the answer is a resounding, loud, definitive no. It's the strangest thing to be this stressed out, to feel this tired, to get this annoyed with select gunners in my class, and at the very same time to be certain that I'd rather be doing this than anything else. Maybe that is why this unnecessary intensity is inflicted upon us.
This will probably be the only peep from me until next week, when I'll probably regale you with boring tales of getting my computer fixed, knitting a sweater, and baking cookies for the holidays. I wish there weren't so many k's in all of those activities.
Oh, also, do you know how you'll listen to an album with an affection for one song, and one day, you'll take another listen to the album, and all of a sudden, an entirely different song will jump out at you and you will get all re-excited about the entire album? That's how I feel about Ryan Adams' Everybody knows, especially after listening to a live, more rocking version of the song with The Cardinals. I adore this song so much, I just want to find a crazy dysfunctional relationship so that it will hit me even more acutely. The song is old news, but so is everything I write about these days.
But then again, two of my classmates were chatting with me yesterday and they had no idea there was a writer's strike in Hollywood (the only good thing about the strike is that I won't have to listen to them talk of Grey's Anatomy very soon). So, in comparison to their awareness, I'm doing pretty well.