There’s an uncanny feeling you get when you know something’s about to change. It’s not at all like when you try and squeeze off a silent and hopefully non-lethal bit of stinky wind and realize you’ve squeezed a little too hard–that’s mild shame and even a bit of disappointment (“I thought I was in control here”), mixed with the usual run of regret (“Why did I think that wouldn’t happen?”) and disgust. Nor is it like the anticipation you feel before going on a trip, though it’s more in that vein. That’s a peculiar momentum of emotion, one that is neither happy nor sad, but looking forward to new sights and smells and the dissembling the anger over rising gas prices, knowing it’s not really the gas company’s fault, but simply a factor in the global exchange of products and services, which really took off in the 1800′s, when commerce on a global scale became the known reality. Hard to think that gas prices today were set in motion by some guy who invented the steam engine a few hundred years ago. Then again, it’s all money in or out of the hand anyway, and you could argue your way back to Adam and Eve if you wanted to, claiming that if God hadn’t invented fruit, we wouldn’t have Israel and Hezbollah going at it like two kindergarteners in a sandbox.
Whoa, way off track. That uncanny feeling, the feeling of change I am experiencing, probably has a French word to describe it, a word that carries within it all the necessary definitive properties, without actually containing any descriptives. Like deja vu. You know exactly what it is. Even if you don’t, because you’ve had it before. Like now. You’ve read this Fringe post before!
Anyway, I woke up feeling the world was the same old stinky grey tenement, but I was strangely satisfied, understanding that it was only temporary. I am not sure if the feeling comes from knowing I’ll be seeing sunny weather within an hour or two. No matter the source or the expectations, I feel that change is in the air. There’s probably a thousand Broadway songs that have been written about this topic, but none with this particular brand of sweetness.
I finished up the script I’ve been slavering over like a canine with a bone of contention, confident in the last 110 pages, not so much at the first 15. That’s the most important part, in a way, because it sets the expectations for the rest of the script. Anyone who decides to read past that first rough patch may find the rest a larf, but will they make it that far? So instead of sending it out like I am prone to doing, straight out of the gate, I’ve held onto it. But I haven’t looked at it. I’m letting it germinate. I’ll go back to it fresh, see what sprouts. The hand of God, perhaps.
So in the meantime, good things come to those who jog patiently. Waiting is for suckers, at least in this town. I’m jumping back into the novel, and will (I state that emphatically, though minus italics, despite the fact that it’s easier to use them than type all this, and looks better too) finish before the end of August. I’m also waiting to hear back from a potential animation job (who would have thunk it–me in animation?) that could be worth a few clams, and I also have the usual run of little freelance gigs that have somehow kept me afloat.
I’ve been here a year, and things have, in some ways, greatly changed. Other things are no different than they were when I last looked at my bank statement. But there’s that old feeling again. I know something’s up. I don’t know what it is, but I feel hope and Spring and hear the vague sound of cash registers. Though it might just be church bells. Something’s in the wind, and it smells perfectly sweet.
Have a great weekend, I’ll see you Monday.