Withdrawal

I've got the shakes.

Not really, but I woke up sick this morning. I think I'm going through withdrawal.

I honestly think I am addicted to all of those things I'm currently giving up, in a way. I'm pretty sure they diminish my overall quality of life, but like any addict, I'm simultaneously convinced they make it better. I just can't imagine my life - any life - without books, or movies, or great TV shows. But especially books. But consumed in the quantities I typically imbibe, they can also become a kind of toxin.

I stayed home today, wrote a few pages of stuff that turned into a scene from a screenplay (the other night as we were having random almost drifting to sleep conversations Jessica said, "You should put this conversation into a romantic comedy screenplay. Or a Sofia Coppola-esque movie." My response: "I'm pretty sure any movie I write will be a Sofia Coppola/romantic comedy hybrid."), did some research for an essay I'm writing on I Am Love (the one film I'm allowed to watch. And read about. Like how I fit that in there?), napped, talked with Sally about how awesome our apartment is going to be, talked about how great our days are going to be tomorrow, and, now, blogged. And boiled eggs to take to work for lunches.

Overall things are going fine. I get frustrated, because sometimes it feels like I will do this for a month and have nothing to show for it. I get impatient with myself, and want for everything to come together all at once, like magic. I want the muse to show up and result in a fit of inspiration and productivity, rather than these sort of half ideas that I have to try to fit into something cohesive and hopefully beautiful. But all I really want from this experience is to get into the habit of making things, so that later on I can achieve some kind of balance.