Ghosts of ideas for films and scenes and stories roam my brain. One day I'll eek something out on paper or at a keyboard. Winning the lotto so I can spend too much time flying back and forth between LA and Alphabet City is my only other option if I want to make friends with celebrities and have people I've never met obsess over my opinions.
Plans for the evening include a whole lot of nothing, followed up by a series of phone calls, followed staring off into space through tired eyes. I ought to go home and take a nap. And sleep the night away. And tomorrow. Until sunday, when I have to start the whole process over again. Instead, I'll probably find someone to hang out with, find food, stay out too late, not get enough sleep, and repeat that process again. C'est la vie.