Monday, February 7, 2011
Yes, this is a ramble.
I might not always agree with some of my lecturers, but this time, I did... for once, anyway. She was talking about how painful it is when you desperately have to churn out something, and no matter how hard you try, it just won't come out.
The frustration is mind-killing, and it builds, it builds, keeps building... and then you break down, and start snapping at everyone. Your temper becomes as short as an eyelash, you start getting all depressed and moping around, the concept/episode/character is constantly dancing in your mind and going, haha, you can't figure this out!
It's the KILL STAB SHUT UP STOP TALKING NO GOTTA WRITE SOMETHING STOP STARING BLANK DOCUMENT WHY IS NOTHING COMING OUT SHIT SHIT SHIT kind of frustration.
And it got me thinking, you know, about that kind of frustration. It's a frustration and a kind of stress that doesn't show at all. All the gymnastics and mugging is in the mind, and sometimes it comes across as though you're not doing anything much, when your brain is actually ready to slop out of your ears and you want to claw at your face and start bawling (maybe not).
And you know how, when you tell people who have never written a concept in their whole life about how you're struggling with the side plot, and you need to fix the character, or you can't make an idea work, etc, they go, "... oh, okay." Or worse, "oh, really?"
Empathy has pretty much gone down the drain by then. So has patience.
No wonder I'm snapping at everyone these days.
And I suppose it might partially be PMS too, but oh well. How I wish the body could re-absorb its stuff... *mumble mumble*
Not to mention I'm starting to wonder why I care so much about a clique that I am, in all actuality, not part of (no Karkar, Stell & Peipei, this doesn't refer to our little cliques. I loveeee you girls!). Maybe it's because I want to be part of it, with all the nonsense and drama and stuff. It gets kind of frustrating in the end. Sure, I can offer the bystander's point of view (which is nicely neutral), but I'll never truly be in.
I'm not linguistically blind. I can't tell nuts about someone when they're talking, but writing is different. I know that tone when I see it; I know it from the words they use. And sometimes I end up wondering about certain things that aren't so nice. Yes, from a bystander's point of view, some things are truly ridiculous... and some are just unbelievable.
And yet, because that friend is important to me, I suppose I'll just stay and you know, quit thinking so much about things, even if I do wish we could all just go back to those times when the friendship hadn't changed and stuff.
Oh, here I am blogging instead of wracking my poor brain about a subplot. There goes.
I hate the pecha-kucha presentation style. I really, really do.
Labels: Life