Parapets

So...I haven't done this in a while. Not here anyway.

I drank a cup of vanilla tea at midnight so I could write a paper, but I finished writing the paper an hour ago and now I'm still awake. Funny how it works that way: I always crash when I need to work, and I always finish early when I've pumped myself full of caffeine.

Lately, I've been coming to terms with things. A lot of stuff's been going on, but I'm specifically thinking about my creativity, and how it all feels so shot, and maybe the best thing I can do for myself right now is to step back and narrow and stop trying to write poetry and stop trying to write fiction and just be okay with my "film all the time" plan. See how that goes. Because truthfully, the more I try to write and can't do it, the more frustrated I get, and so maybe me and writing need a trial separation. Maybe, if I do that, I'll miss it so much the need and desire and utter fucking want to do it again will smack me in the face like New York wind in February. (Okay, that simile was dumb, but I'm wired, so forgive me.)

This kid in my film class died. Malcolm talked about it today, and I felt nothing. I mean, it's shit, the kid was my age, but I don't know what to say. I didn't know him. Not really. I feel like being unhappy about it would be unproductive and undeserved.

Today, I thought about Dublin football and started crying. I'm kind of in a bad way.