A germ idea for a script wormed it's way into my brain. I'm so hyped I can't sleep. I've scribbled and typed but still can't manage to appease my self. I think this is one of the worst cases of "attacks" I've had so far. Let me attempt to explain it. My chest feels heavy and there's a threatening tendency for tears...tears of frustration, doubt, excitement, hope, and adrenaline all rolled into one. It's when you're hyped to express but desperately hold on to objectivity and proper thinking so you can document the many worlds that unfold in your brain into something eligible, something you can go back to after the frenzy. Frenzy seems so apt. You're in an overdrive and at the same time in a struggle to grasp all the details that go with it. If you don't it'd be like speaking in tongues. On the other hand, failure to contain everything for what'll pass as a creative output entails vexation. Hah.
They say writing is the loneliest profession since when you write, you write alone. You can have another person in the room, a crowd even, but YOU. WRITE. ALONE. (And having a typist doesn't contradict that, don't be too literal you ass). Well let me add craziest. You write alone, and you're to deal with immeasurable phantasms ALONE.
So there. This account may not make sense tomorrow but it shall be a testament to an absence of sense. Ciao.
