Next Year, Baby. . .

I try not to dwell on the past anymore. I’ll allow myself to look back on it fondly, to remember the places I’ve loved and occasionally rest on my laurels, but there’s no reason to regret the choices I’ve made. Years of remorse won’t shift past events into idyllic focus, so why bother? Moving on is really the only choice.

So here comes Christmas, and then those few days of boredom and depression before the new year. Symbolic new beginnings for everyone! It’s as good as any time to start all over, as the whole world is keen to reinvent itself. So what’s new in the new year, you may ask? Well, damn near everything. Since I’ve (almost) (probably) totally cleaned up the mess that Jesse Quick left when she checked out, all things move forward from there. The first major hurdle is going to be reversing all the major health difficulties of the past seven (seven!) years. New evidence suggests that the problem is Celiac Disease, but I think that’s total bullcrap. Look, if it’s not cancer like my doctor originally predicted, then why would the troubles be linked to something as pissy and lowbrow as Celiac? Not to be a disease elitist, but problems just do not follow in that order. Of course, my body’s violent and troubling reaction to whatever drug du jour I was put on this week doesn’t help one bit. So I’m cutting out the chaff: no more Pamine, Donnatal, Simethecone, anything. None of this crap I’ve been shoveling into myself in the hope that it dulls the pain. The non-medicinal crutches go too: no more liquor when times get rough. No more buying crap food in bulk and then eating it because, hey, it’s in the house. No more punishing late-night editing binges to throw myself into my work in an unhealthy manner. Yeah, like any of these are gonna happen.

Luckily, other factors come into play when school is pretty much all but over. I’ll have one day of classes next semester, and none of that eight-hour span appears to be incredibly strenuous. I’m definitely thinking about dialing down my commitment at the station, especially since they don’t pay me, and possibly about cashing in some of my excess cash. Do you know what all this maneuvering means? That’s right: Feature Film. I’ve been talking about it for nearly sixteen years, so why not cash in on the whole “boy genius” thing while I’m still technically young? The crew and actors shouldn’t be a problem; that’s one of the added benefits of going to film school. SCULA is just teeming with semi-talented near-professionals, and I seem to know bunches of them. Hey, it’d make a better group than usually gets together to make films; have you actually sat down and watched Clerks. recently? My ideal plan is to make a film cheaper than Tarnation and quicker than The Day the World Ended (you can look up the figures for both). When it all goes south, I’ll have realized I’ve set ridiculous goals for myself and I’ll be able to relax. When it’s all done, I’ll either have a complete film to shove out on the festival circuit or a good piece to put on my reel. Maybe I’m being a bit naïve and unrealistic about the whole thing, but it’s worth a shot. Now all I need is a script.

As for everything else. . .well, I’ll never be calm about anything in my life. Why should I? I’ll continue to complain, continue to try and move forward out of any given rut. It’ll be different, though, or at least I’d hope. December 30th will mark six years to the day since Quick wrecked and ravaged the whole shebang. Some of her physical reminders linger; a scar still runs down my neck, and one troubling disorder that she unleashed has worked its way back into my life. That’s no reason to let her hang about my thoughts. This year marked those first tentative steps out the door. This January I’ll start running.

But if there’s one thing I must do despite my greatest fears. . .