Fuck It I'm 50

The sinus around my left eye and along my cheekbone is inflamed and sensitive, the bone that endured the surgery is present with a dull insistent pain and my carpel tunnel is flared up. Feeling all of my 50 years and a little scared that the surgery might be infected. I am going to the dentist on Monday…but is it’s worse tomorrow I will call in.

I am going to keep it brief because of the distracting pain, but also because I have decided to keep my date with Susan, a close friend who I haven’t seen in months, and get out of here, out of myself for a little while.

But the cliff notes of today are interesting. I have gone from even keel, diligently taking care of many must dos, moving closer to my temporal clarity, and feeling like it will all be OK to inner darkness. I had a very long conversation with someone who knows me well and is expert at helping people with their problems. It was like peeling a fresh scab off a fresh wound, not the smartest thing to do. I felt defeated and overwhelmed after the relentless 70+ minutes and failed to make it to the gym, work more on my unfolding plan, or anything else of particular note.

But in that stymied place I know that some big shifts were underway, and as my fate would have it some else called me and offered me the solution to one of the major dilemmas that I saw in the harsh light of the earlier conversation.

A very competent and enthusiastic person has proposed to be my manager. One of the main questions that came up in the earlier conversation.

Another thing that came up in the earlier conversation was Saltwater, the guilt and regret and weighted feelings I have around this central project in my life. My first counsel suggested it might be something that I shelve, and that riled me. I haven’t come this far with this little gem to walk away. But what I am doing is not working and doesn’t seem to be able to work in the foreseeable future.

I lay down with Lefty and Sakai, my visiting dog houseguest, see pictures on the ilog, and thought about it.

It came to me. Go back to what I know. Not only is this comfortable, but it makes sense. Independent films being made for all kinds of budgets, with all kinds of stars and all kinds of production values are selling for $250,000 out of the main festivals and markets. So why am I killing myself to make a $650,000 film that will only make $250,000 if I am lucky? And I know, in know how to make, let’s say, a $178,000 film. That feels real and that feels doable, and business wise just as likely to see a return for my investors.

What the fuck?

So, I finally feel like I have a new and workable handle on this. And as far as the film’s history goes, the past is the past. We have all learned, gown, moved on. And we may all be there for the next incarnation, and maybe not. And it’s OK.

It’s time to make something I have the operating instructions for. I have a great script and great locations and I know how to make a low budget film.

More on the big breakdown over the weekend.