A Good Thing

He knew it was a rather fortuitous event that had transpired over a week ago. Truthfully, he felt kinda bad about it all at first, but after a good night's rest he felt fine and before the next week even half passed he already had begun to see the light at the end of the tunnel.

Recently, however, he had been getting reminders of that place; they invaded his dreams. Somehow finding himself back at that office doing the same things he used to do for money, it was rather frightening.

It was rather reassuring. If he had nightmares about working for that place it was probably a good sign that he was out.

For My Country Post Update

Finished a first cut. I have to go over it and see how I might be able to make some changes. I feel like in squeezing this ambitious of an idea into a 3 minute film forced me to skim over a lot of dramatic beats I would have taken otherwise. Maybe I can cut out a scene to give the others more attention. I guess we'll have to see though. I still need to sound design. Hopefully the sound design will also give it more of the rhythm I'm feeling is missing right now. I guess we'll see. In the meantime, however, here are some more stills for you all. ^_^

Back to square one

After much debate on how I was to present this post I decided I should do it in my typical way since this blog is SUPPOSED to be writing practice for me, but I digress.

---

The check was for roughly $750. Normally that amount would look about right for a week's worth of pay for an entry level position in most industries. The thing was, that check wasn't for a week's worth of work; it was 3. Three weeks of work amounted to roughly $750. Seeing it in numbers on a hard, tangible check in front of him made that figure all that more realistic than the vague ethereal figures crunched off the top of his head. He laughed at the fact that his friends actually expected him to join them in living in the city, with how much he made a month he could probably make rent, but he wouldn't have anything left for food. Though, if that weren't enough of an excuse before, he certainly had more of one now.

He strolled casually into work, half frozen beverage from 7-11 in his hand, a present for himself for managing to complete a hard day's shoot just no longer than an hour earlier. The receptionist looked up at him as he strolled in and delivered his typical "hi". She caught him just as he walked past.

"Roger is looking for you" she said as he headed towards the back to clock in.

"Ok," he replied nonchalantly.

He searched around the office, not finding him at his desk or anywhere else around the office. As he searched, he though "this can't be good," yet at the same time, the feeling of "oh well" passed through him as well.

He eventually found him coming out of the bathroom and greeted him with a "what's up?"

Roger, a 5'5" middle eastern man with an accent as thick as his glasses, asked him to come with him and he followed his boss to the small accounting office where he was informed his help would no longer be needed as there was a new employee in accounting and he would be called should they need anything in the future. He was then handed his final paycheck, the past 3 weeks rolled into one, and left alone.

It was odd. He felt it was coming for a while now, or at least something like that. He was fairly certain it wasn't because he had begun to mess up; if that were the case he would have heard about it. But, he shrugged and picked up his bag and made his way throughout the office, saying bye to everyone.

It was interesting because just a few days before he had had a conversation with a fellow employee about how they both didn't even care if they were fired from that job, and here he was, exactly in that position.

He actually felt kind of good about it; having a legit excuse to not have to go to that crapshoot of an office was quite a nice thing to have, though it did make conversations a bit awkward sometimes. He was cautious though, he knew that this good feeling could just merely be his brain, reacting defensively and releasing all sorts of feel good chemicals to make him feel better. He knew he would know the next morning truly how he felt. Until then, however, he was going to enjoy his night.

You're Not Coming in Clearly

Apparently, his problem lay in communication. Either there was too much of it or not enough, both of which seemingly always made him worse off. He recalled the days when he was known for being a loud mouth that never shut up, and well, to many people he was still that person, even though he didn't quite feel that way himself anymore.

Perhaps over time he managed to quell the storm that raged in his head and very often spilled out through his lips, chaotic and, unfortunately, audible to those around him. Though he suspected that it was more the fact that so many years of constant blabbering had run him dry and he simply had nothing to talk about anymore. There were convincing arguments to both cases and he really didn't want to spend the effort trying to figure it out, though it was very likely to be some odd amalgamation of the two.

Something Better?

His alarm rang at 9:30AM, and as he sat up to turn it off, he actually felt pretty awake and well rested. Despite that fact, his brain yelled to be back under his covers and his body nodded in ascent, so he reset his alarm for an hour later, brushed his teeth quickly so he wouldn't have to do it later, and then crawled back into bed.

He found himself rather unmotivated lately. He had kept at his free work; steadily adding on more and more on top of it, some paid, some not; in the hopes of keeping himself busy and disciplined. What he sought in all of this was structure. He knew that if he let himself room to be lazy he would take it and he would end up nowhere fast. This strategy, while effective at first, seemed to be losing its effect. Constantly working for seemingly nothing had stopped acting as a structure and, in some respects, started eating at his soul -- his night job didn't help much either. Everywhere he turned seemed like a dead end and he didn't know the way out, even though he constantly felt that there was one.

There was a world open to him, one much better than what he currently experienced. He wasn't sure where it was or how to get there but he could hear it calling faintly to him, a tiny voice that haunted the back of his mind. He often brushed it off, feeling as though it was just the call of a Siren, hoping to draw him to a turbulent end on their rocky shores.

Maybe, however, it was something better; a genuine guide to a better place; a reminder that something greater indeed lay beyond these walls. Either way, whether it be Siren's call or angelic guide, finding it would indeed prove to be of great importance. It was coming to be about the time when he took a step outside his comfort zone, it was, after all, beginning to feel rather uncomfortable in there.

Soft

His hand accidentally brushed her's briefly as he reached for the railing on the side of the theater. Instantly, his mind took note of how soft her hand was and he realized that something was missing.

Not her, the owner of the hand in question, but rather the mere sensation of a hand in his.

The more pathetic way of saying this would to simply put "he was lonely," but he was much too dignified to say that, and perhaps that was the problem.

For all the bitching he tended to do about his problems, he seldom did anything beyond just that; constant bitching. He knew he had to do something about it, but at the end of the day he was too lazy or cowardly to do anything of the sort.

A coward, that was what he was. He hid it pretty well behind logic and rationality, but in reality he was still a coward, unwilling to take a bold move forward in attempt to fix the problems at hand. Ultimately he wanted someone else to make the move for him, but that just wasn't the way things worked.

It was an interesting paradox he was witnessing; if he wanted to once again experience the softness of another hand in his, he would have to play a little harder to get there.

Laziness or Loyalty?

He knew money wasn't everything, but right now it encompassed a good 70% of his field of vision. He had been out of school for a year now and was more or less in the same place he was 12 months ago; working for free, only now he had a low paying night job to give him some sort of pocket change.

This was a life style he was growing weary of, yet at the same time something was preventing him from really searching elsewhere for a change. He attributed it to his laziness and hoped that it was nothing more than that.

Laziness he could beat. It took a lot of effort, but he knew if he kicked his own ass enough he would get sick of the same old crap quickly enough to get up and do something about the predicament he was in. In short, Laziness could be likened to "Medusa" of the Gorgons; a rather difficult adversary to overcome, but one that could be defeated and killed, unlike her sisters. No, what he feared held him fast to his current lifestyle was of the worst kind; loyalty.

This loyalty was not in full, something felt out of gratefulness, friendship or anything of that sort, but rather felt more like Stockholm Syndrome, a strange phenomenon where a hostage begins to identify with and grow attached to his/her captors. Or perhaps this was a feeling of loyalty that sprouted out of the mere sense of familiarity. A habit is especially difficult to break, especially if its a bad one. Though, he rationalized, it wasn't all bad. There was some promise there. Once again, however, he feared he was putting all his eggs in one basket. Ultimately he wondered how his life would look 5 years down the line. He sincerely hoped that it would not be what it was now.