12:38 p.m. - 2004-11-05
Restless;
I want to steal a thousand images because from the distance of my sight they match the empty spaces in my soul.
In my hands they fall apart, soft fragments and miracles that only disappoint.
I dreamed (dreamt?) I was working again (but since when do we work on field trips, with school buses and P. Eng. students?) and Mark showed up. I went with him, in Jason's van, because he needed breakfast, and I was going to fill him in on the job. We ended up in his hotel room, and it was sometimes Mark, and sometimes Jason, and every Whistler job we've ever done that involved, eventually, being naked in someone's bed, jacuzzi, room or arms, watching movies, and thinking that maybe we would have sex, only to fall asleep instead. Sheltering each other, protecting each other and forgetting just for a moment to be alone.
Of course there were distractions - there always were - about work and phones and life, and in the way of dreams we were leaving again, swapping trucks and switching drivers and racing each other to lock doors and check windows and tackling each other in the gravel parking lot.
I think it's partly a result of years in film, of being accustomed to playing and fighting and working alongside/as one of the boys, and yet being aware of and comfortable with the sexual tension there that makes "real" relationships so hard for me to fathom. I don't expect to be treated like a princess, I expect to be treated as an equal. I'm also a flirt, and comfortable with my body, naked or clothed, but the rules in film are different than the rules out here, and everything I learned is useless.
Not everything. Just enough to keep me constantly confused. I miss it a lot, sometimes.
It takes a certain kind of mentality, a certain kind of person to flourish in film. There is no certainty, no regular paycheck, no reliable hours... it's effectively a different job every day, especially in commercials and videos, and every hour brings changes, challenges and frustrations. To spend two weeks on something, only to throw it away in an instant to go with something different... and then bring it back again 3 hours later. It builds a community unlike anything else, and now that I've left, I can't be a part of it. It hurts, to be excluded from the single group of people I felt accepted by, even if the exclusion is of my own doing.
