I left this till the last minute today. It's 10:48 PM and I'm just now sitting down to write. What's wrong with me?
Nothing, Sam; you're living your life.
I find it strangely soothing to talk to myself in the second person. It's oddly satisfying when I'm being kind. Believe it or not, I'm often not.
Not as kind as my grandmother, anyway. Yesterday, I received a lovely package in the mail from her of two newspaper clippings, one about Steven Spielberg and one about a Santa Rosa high school graduate who just finished making his first independent film. Perhaps this is why I'm suddenly interested in movie-making again. Or, perhaps that's what I really want. At the moment, I can't tell.
I'm terrified. What if I fuck this all up? This being my life.
See, I told you I'm not so kind...
I don't have much to say today. There's no real lesson.
Maybe the lesson is to be kinder to yourself. And I just said that in the second person.