I have days when I ask myself, “Why am I doing this?” I don’t eat. I don’t exercise. I can’t sleep normally. I’m depressed. I’m anxious. I yell. I pace. I don’t see my friends. I stand people up. I forget my keys. I forget my wallet. I forget to put on clothes before I take the garbage out.

If there were opium dens in the Lower East Side, you’d never see me again.

Independent filmmaking is a completely all-consuming and defeating venture. Time not spent creating is spent desperate to find ways to help fund the creation. I can’t divorce my thoughts from my dwindling coffers completely while I try to conduct (rather than direct) ADR… the New Year’s resolution to not multitask really didn’t hold.

I have forgotten what weekends are. I have forgotten what a vacation means. I bring my iphone into the tub with me and my right hand never gets pruned.

I repeat to myself… one month. One month and I’m done with this beast. I had rather naively posted to facebook a projection of 16 non-consecutive days. This was very much wishful thinking. I see a light at the end of the tunnel, but I haven’t laid eyes on my boyfriend in five days.

I do not like filmmaking, but I do like having made a film. That’s my mantra.

Yet somehow I’ve already written four scenes of the next one…

Quelle Masochism.