I don't even know what that means. I mean, I do. I get it. But i don't don't know why I wrote it.
I'm feeling things. All the feels. As the kids say.
Not the sads. Take note. The feels and the sads, two different truths.
These are the feels. Like, I feel like I'm in a good place, but a weird place. I feel like when Drake says I'm here for a good time not a long time, I feel that. But I feel the opposite too. And I feel Drake, sometimes. I feel the Weeknd when he says he can't feel his face. I mean, I felt that.
These are the feels of our lives.
Been chatting with my crew out here. Talking about making things. I talk too much. If you know me, you know it's true. Then you know I'll be all, I don't, but I do. I do. In this case, talk is cheap.
I was on set recently. Twice. I'll be at it again. They call it recurring. That's rad. Even though from the inside, it doesn't feel rad. Or recurring. It feels nice to get at something. To get something. It felt nice to see myself on a tv show and realise that it really does just work that way. You're in it then you're in it. It feels nice to know that I was on set, and got there straight up. I did that. But then I was on set scratching my head with a now what attitude at points because it wasn't always (or at all) about anything. It was for others but not always for me. It was just...on set. I worked with a dog. It felt like doing some shit to do the damn thing. Even though it mattered to the story. It was ...doing work that was what it was. It felt a certain way. All the feels. Like I said.
I got to serve the casting directors who cast me in the show I was on set for recently. In truth, that was a good one. Seriously. Because they saw me as a real human. I get to be in my element in the restaurant. It's easy for me. I Good Will Hunting the shit out of that shit. So that felt good. That was good. I wasn't all I work here temporarily. I work there. I run it. I love it.
Instead I was all this neighborhood, and this wine, and this food, and this city. That was the realest it could be. The realer it gets, the realest it can be.
Full circle. The beginning and the end. But I'm a keep going. Hold on T Swift, Imma let you finish, but first...
At this point though, I'm disconnected. My phone line is blinking but calls aren't going through. And I can feel it. Right? The feels. The reals. I know that I'm a bit disconnected from it all. It's all a bit separate from the day to day. A cloak of invisibility. So I'm making plans. That's what I do when I check out. I try to check in by checking in with people. Sometimes it works. Sometimes, but so rarely I think it's a fluke. I mostly mean to check in with myself. But then I oversleep.
I gotta check myself.
My friend just landed a hard fought for gig on a show. She deserves it. I'm prouder than a papa. And it makes me hungry too.
I just ate ribs at 2 in the morning. But that's not the kind of hungry I meant.
But I still did it. Because, they were ribs.