Depravity

"Francisco, what's the most depraved type of human being?"
"The man without a purpose."
—Atlas Shrugged, Ayn Rand

New year. Renewed focus.

Back at the day job after a 5 days of mental repair. Five days away, twelve months away, it's always hard to come back.

I wonder where I would be right now if the writer's strike had been averted. Or if it had been resolved sometime in November.

Regardless of "if" games, I'm tethered to my day job now. Forced to listen to uninformed opinions of what the writers ought to be doing. Because if there's one thing that people love to do, it's offer unsolicited fucking opinions.

No fluffy resolutions. Just a determination to be a more productive writer. Circling completion of a new spec script ("Midnight Show"). Plan to finish writing another stage play (the long-gestating "All Goodbyes Should Be Sudden"). I may not be the most prolific writer, but I'm just going to keep my work out there.

It is entirely too easy to forget where you want to end up.