Three fourths of my life is spent in front of a computer. Bad? Wrong? Against nature? I just don’t know. All I know is my bread and butter are composed in pixels, and my bacon has only the faintest smell of ozone as the electronic components of my livelihood dwindle, fade, and spark down into a void of inoperability.
What the heck is he talking about?
My computer continues to spit out errors and produce failures faster than Steven Seagal at an all-you-can-eat buffet. I’m basically working on borrowed time, stolen or defrauded in some cases. This film. Must. Be finished. And it will, if I have to wrench my various silicone boards into a piece of installation art for my apartment, sell it to some high-bid art connoisseur, and use the profits to buy another computer which will take the place of my once trusty machine. I’ve reached the point where I no longer cuss at it whenever it crashes. I’ve learned to accept the crashes into my life sullenly, like jocks who spend their time making fun of the high school geek, who suddenly shows up at school with the prom queen under his arm. You gotta respect moxie like that. So it is with Computer, who is not OK, and who has made my last three weeks a nightmarish India tech support experience, without the awesome accents.
Points if you got the Radiohead reference. Especially if you’re my dad.
So The Canal is on its way to being done. I expect two to three in the am should see me stumbling my way to bed, happy in the thought that I’ve finished the film, that it’s ready to be sent off and judged by a stranger. Meanwhile, I’ve got to try not to fall asleep at the wheel on my way to work. Are my priorities twisted or what?
I’ll have screenshots available at some point, and maybe a website, though chalk that up as item number 3,602 on the list of Things Jeremiah Will Always Have On His Plate. Somehow, Emily is patient throughout it all. She’s the kind of person who makes me realize there are very few people in the world who have the fortitude to bear my kind of lifestyle on a regular basis. I think it’s safe to say that since I’ve found someone who doesn’t gasp in shock at my corpulent work schedule, I should probably not be retarded and take it too far. So, solemn promise, with instant blog accountability, when this thing is over, I promise to take it easy…
…For the next couple of weeks.
All is well in jockey town. The week is begun, and I’m on my way to Tuesday with Mountain Dew in my system and a film to finish. I’ll see you on the other side. Thanks for extending me your gracious patronage. I do hope you stick around.