Pre-Post Mortem

I'm still in the process of gettingthefuckout, but I'll leave it at "it went incredibly well" until I can compose my thoughts, get the pictures all worked out and start the next chapter.  Photo credit, Cofer's iPhone.   

Hee.

Why Didn't I Take The Blue Pill?

Insomnia is a bitch.
With roughly a week left until this all-important "show" thing I've been having more and more trouble staving off that nervous breakdown I knew was imminent all along. I've been in full avoidance mode, partially because the more effort I put into this thing the less important it seems in the grand scheme, and thus the more I feel as though my time was entirely wasted. I spent the whole weekend with Matt, watching Quantum Leap episodes I already watched years ago, and felt roughly the same sense of accomplishment as if I had spent the whole time in the studio, slaving over my all-important "work."

Isn't there supposed to be something inherently wrong with that picture?

Furthermore, when I take a minute to analyze it the whole reason I'm so into film and other forms of entertainment I realize it must be at least partially because the endeavor to engage with them is designed to feel fruitless, and therefore not disappointing when it does.

So I've been up all night, again, not working. This is an activity that has come to define this semester. I reached the end of the internet hours and hours ago and resorted to watching hilarious old propaganda films from the 50's and 60's, educating myself about the dangers of sex, porn, narcotics, and swimming during the first three days of my period. Did you know you could get chills and a fever and possibly die if you do? Take heed, ladies! Also, reefers apparently make you feel like things are moving at 100 miles an hour, though hours of personal research yield consistent and reproducible results to the contrary, and therefore leave me dubious. This leads me to believe further research may, in fact, be warranted. At some point, even these little propagandtastic nuggets left me needing some other type of entertainment, and that is when I stumbled upon a little film called Zeitgeist. It's not the first time I'd run into it, and in fact several people I like very much had suggested it already. This was, however, the first time I actually made it through the first five minutes without thinking "didn't I already see this a couple of times with a marginally less annoying soundtrack and the suffix -qatsi attached?" and promptly moving on to something shorter and fluffier. Needless to say, once I got through the unnecessarily lengthy opening bit, I was sucked in.

The most troubling part of the whole experience (and it is troubling) is that nothing was presented to me that I hadn't a) already thought or b) seen before and found to be a worthwhile argument, until the third act came in and fucked up my Christmas, and even then the only thing I hadn't even considered was all just economics. I think the image of the nutjob conspiracy theorist has been so widely perpetrated in our society that I find myself, even now feeling as affected as I do, hesitant to just run out and shout HOLY-SHIT-WATCH-THIS-MOVIE-IT-WILL-CHANGE-YOUR-
OUTLOOK-ON-EVERYTHING-EVER-AND/OR-DESTROY-YOUR-
WILL-TO-DO-ANYTHING-FOR-THE-FUTILITY-OF-IT-ALL. And yet, if you have two hours to kill and are not entirely comfortable with things as they are, that is in fact exactly what I am saying. All I know is that I now feel like breaking things. And that can't be good for my show.

We now return you to your regularly scheduled programming.

One last thought, does it creep anyone else out that it is called programming? If anyone needs me I'll be outfitting my arsenal and stockpiling canned goods in my bunker under the grassy knoll.