I'm temperamentally inclined to slow living, or so I'd like to think. Yet I'm very impatient and impulsive. So there are times that the stream of life is a rushing wall of water crashing through my normal existence. The profferer of the Canada job called me two weeks ago with yet another job that I accepted and spent the following eight days completely absorbed by. It went well.
Then I spent another week wrapping that job and recovering physically and organizationally. So here I am, sitting quietly on a Friday night. Thinking about old friends and more exciting, but not necessarily better, times of my life.
The motorcycle has proven to be a very good idea. I'm enjoying that.
What else? Not really sure. I'm not writing or missing writing. I'm trying to stay connected to finishing Dangerous Writing, but it feels like a chore for the most part. I do want to see it finished, but the process is a trudge to say the least.
I just moved out of the office I've had for the past two and half years. I had to go through all the detritus of making movies and teaching acting. I tossed a lot of it. Not most or anything drastic, but I let go of somethings that I've been hauling around for a decade or more. Part of me would like to see all of it go. I'm not very attached to it. But some of it still makes me money through rentals and the occasional job, though the more photo jobs I do, the less I want to make movies for any amount of money.
The other reason I find it hard to let go of my film-related stuff is that it is stuff that has value, or so it would seem. I had a collection of scripts from the 60s-80s that I offered to whoever on Facebook and to the NW Film Center. You can get a lot of them online now, but these were copies from the studios and from the time when there was no internet. There were no takers. I tossed each of the one to three pound bricks into the recycling skip at my old office. And that was that. Times change within and without.
I have an old film camera that I need to sell as well. Part of me wants to heft its heavy metal case up into a corner of my attic and see what the world thinks of it in twenty years. But my attic is mostly empty and I'd like to keep it that way. So I'll donate or sell my beautiful and trusty old Arriflex to someone that will find a use for it.
My father-in-law once reminded me that money is just an exchange for time. That holding onto stuff that you think you could sell or use again someday is really just shorting yourself time.
Since I tend to live faster than I often realize, I suppose I shouldn't short myself time by hanging onto possessions that no longer serve me.