It snowed again last night. A delicious skim of snow covers everything. Crisp, clean, white. Snuggled in the bosom of the sunroom, there is something glorious in being surrounded by snow, seeing the snow, but not feeling the snow. All the beauty, none of the pain. I could stay here forever.
Was sick over the weekend. I want to say it was disastrous, but it wasn’t. It was only potentially exciting. At one point I felt I would faint, but, alas, I did not and the rest of the day went prosaically. The Boy bought me a mountain of carbs and it seemed to do the trick. In the wee hours earlier, there was a splitting earache that woke me and signaled that this day would not be like the others. I, of course, did not believe it. How could I when a normal dose of ibuprofen could quell it into submission and not make it squeak, not once, for the rest of the day? But being sick fled from my ear and went underground into some place deep, deep inside. I just remember being in the Boy’s office and turning a gradual shade of awful. That was when the Boy looked up and declared it was time to go — I was clearly not toughing it out as claimed.
It’s Monday and I’m still sick. If I had to run, I probably could, but the toll — it might end in euphoria or a death-spiral. I’m pretty content to stay glued to the couch, but my head is cloudy from the carbonara I scarfed for breakfast. This is clearly why I limit carbs. They do nothing for clarity.
I am watching a film called The Dust Factory and it’s losing me. It’s about a little boy with a past trauma who falls into a river and goes into this dream world. This dream world is not wondrous at all. It’s quite lame actually. What’s with this circus? Who goes to the circus anymore? Circuses are more like oddities than fantasies. The scenes are clumsy and plodding and make no visual sense. It irritates me that I’m thinking about what’s wrong with this movie than what’s going right with my script. At least my script has a good concept. I mean there’s a troll who lives in a tower! An abandoned water tower in plain sight! It’s fancy and Italianate and there’s magic and wonder and a vague threat in the air that no one can feel because it doesn’t exist for them anymore. There’s something deeply wrong with this kind of modern sophistication that doesn’t believe in mystery and ghosts and truths beyond facts.
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