Euff. Bollocks. I've just found an Email telling me that I've been rejected by 2 temping agencies now, and both of them sent me patronising little letters saying that basically I'm only good for manual labour. Fuck. It seems that they don't see CVs worse than mine all the time, I'm special. An annoyingly bad ending to what has been a pretty good day on the whole.
It is the midsummer solstice here; I'm pretty sure it is everywhere else too but I'm not sure. The world can be strange. This has been the day on which, for the last five years at least, I walk alone up to the top of Shooters Hill and watch the sun go down over London, in all its murky finery. I've tried to write a song about it, but I can't write songs. Or paint a picture of it, but I can't draw. I'd like to write a poem, a short story or something interesting, but I can't write. Basically every year for the last half a decade I go to the top of the ancient hill, sit on the burial mounds of the long forgotten warriors, and wait for some flash of inspiration to arrive. It never does, and each year I leave more frustrated with my inability to make the things I produce, whether it is music, writing or any other field, match the ideas and visions in my head.
However, this evening wasn't a bad one, as these things go. I met up with some friends in a field on the side of the hill and joined them in talking and drinking until about midnight. This suceeded in distracting me from the usual questions that plague me on this night. Instead it focused my attention back to a subject, brought up by a friend, that I haven't relly given any thought to in a while now.
Colin wanted to know when I could come and help him revise a script, for production, that I wrote about a year ago. He's been trying to get the project off the ground since the new year, but I'm afraid to even look at the damn script again. Its like Schrodinger's cat: If I don't look at it, the screenplay remains niether good nor bad, but by reading it I will be forced to decide whether or not this project, which represents my most concerted effort to make something memorable yet, was worth the hours and hours I spent on it.
Oh, man. nervous. But hey, with the possibility of finding gainful employment rapidly dwindling away, I've got nothing better to do this summer.
Have at Ye, Script!
-Ben
