I haven't written much fiction in a while. Just revisions on stuff... it doesn't feel good. Puts me in a testy mood where I feel like I have no patience for anyone and I can't pay attention to anything. (Though I'm reading and so far enjoying Horns at the moment.) Just made the mistake of looking at Midnight Picnic's atrocious amazon ranking (over 1,000,000 at the time of this writing), which I rarely do. Called an old friend yesterday.
Old Friend in NY: I feel like shit. I'm lonely. I'm about to be really broke. My unemployment ran out.
Me: I can't write. I went on a bad date. I miss [my ex]. Why is everyone so depressed right now?
OF: They aren't. I see their facebook pages. Everyone is happy.
Me: I just called somebody today to say hi and she broke down crying about her life before I even had a chance to complain about mine.
OF: Also, my dog is sick.
Feels like I haven't accomplished anything in a long time. Off my "game." It did feel good to go swimming yesterday and read Horns. Yesterday I had a good but humbling night, had dinner with a super-talented screenwriter who graduated a few years before me and has been dizzyingly successful, found out his new project is an adaptation of something written by someone else I know, then went to a bar where the 27-year-old girl--my age--who just won the Emmy for Mad Men happened to be in attendance. Jesus. Meanwhile I'm fucking around with two more novel manuscripts. But it is very sunny outside... there's always that. I just dried off from a shower by wandering around my neighborhood in flip-flops and a pair of old basketball shorts. That was nice.
...And in happier news, there might be a Kick-Ass 2. The first one remains, in all seriousness, my favorite movie of 2010 so far, followed by The Ghost Writer and Animal Kingdom.