jkatkina

There's a spiral of pork belly and herbs behind the sneeze guard of my favourite cafe. I'm staring right at it, and it looks delicious, but I've never asked for it, or even what it is. Because who asks those questions? Who can concieve of asking these questions?

I came out of work today mortified. I tried to make a connection with someone important, and it flubbed. I embarrassed myself -- or maybe I didn't? -- I felt embarrassed. I have no read on what the other person felt about the situation, because panic overrode my ability to read people. Which, when I'm calm, is pretty good. When I'm panicky, I'm realizing, it's terribly, terribly bad. So if I think I read disappointment, confusion and dislike off of this person, I can't trust that.

I can't. I keep telling myself that.

So much of my life is paralysis. My studio recently made a big four-year deal with Netflix, which means we're going to have steady work for a while. Well, "we" as in the studio, not "we" as in the employees. Contract work is a bitch. But in any case, it's a good time to make a pitch. Any pitch that gets made will make it in front of Netflix execs, and if they don't take it, someone else might.

I have a good idea for a pitch. I think it's a very good idea. Compelling, complex, visually striking.

Apparently people who announce their New Years resolutions are less likely to fulfill them. I don't know if that's causation or simply correlation, but it does not surprise me. You feel the pressure. You feel the scrutiny. It's paralyzing.

I'm tired of not achieving my goals. I have to trick myself into doing anything. It's tiring.

I won't make the pitch, but I will dream of it. I know myself too well to get excited by this.