So I could have spent my remaining day of the weekend doing any number of things, and I chose, for the most part, to mainline the second and hopefully final season of Hemlock Grove. It is weird and awful and addictive enough that it’s a challenge to pull myself away just to write this even if I think I can get it done relatively quickly. I have felt odd all day, slept in too late, woke up groggy and disconnected, ate too little and all of it makes me feel rather nauseous at the moment. Then, I went like a fire engine racing through transferring scenes into Ywriter for the novel, trying to think, in a perfect sense, of the development of every blade of grass in the story. To have a perfect knowledge of all things and to write it out immediately, perfectly. My brain felt afire, truly, excited for the story, excited for what it would feel like to have it all together as it should be, with not a square inch of false stone still stuck to the David, every inch, every word intended and known. In ink, irrefutable.
Instant headache. Instantly tired and sick to my stomach. The fact that it is 11:15p.m. and it is still 85 degrees in this house hasn’t helped, either. Listless, drowsy, simultaneously with a brain on full tilt. Obviously, one way to get me away from imperfection is to overwhelm me with the possibilities of perfection. Obvious impossibilities and definitive imperfections here in the real world. I just want to do it so badly.
But, I can at least report that such a swell of mental activity did not completely short-circuit my desire and ability to keep working. It just became a slower pace, dotted with a break to watch Silver Linings Playbook because I saw it on Netflix and I remembered thinking that I really wanted to watch it for some reason. I think I like Jennifer Lawrence from those accidental viewings of the Hunger Games movies on same streaming platform and I’ve always liked Bradley Cooper out of a lady’s prerogative in these matters and I thought, with all the hubbub and hullaballoo about that movie, that I’d like them together in this. It was fine. It was a tempest in a teacup. It didn’t go far enough in the places I wanted it to go further and the places where it did shock or move or elevate, something in the scene seemed to neuter it for comedic purposes. Chris Tucker, anyone? Even as restrained as he played it, the roly-poly quality of things just happening because this is a crazy (read: loving, if backward and silly) family, every last one of them seemed a bit cartoonish at the end. I don’t know.
And that became 900 hours of watching Hemlock Grove, to my unending chagrin. Sigh. If only it had been ten degrees cooler today.
Last night was given a bit of short shrift here in blog land. It will be again tonight, but I swear, cousin, I will make proper note of you sooner or later.