Aren't You Supposed to be Busy?

Despite the now full fledged cold and cough, I managed to wake up at my early hour of 11am and call Karen, one of the producers and soon to be actor in our wonderful movie enterprise.

Of course she signed up, it's her movie. But as director, I felt like I needed to cajole her a little more into loving her part as an actress. After all, like JP, she can act, she's just shy about it.

I don't know why, but a large part of my friends are "Actors". I don't mean wonderful theater actors who can replicate human emotion at the drop of a hat, but creative people who don't seem to mind others watching their ornery. In fact, they love it. They'll not only be honest about their rants, but they'll give you gut wrenching emotions at pivotal moments while giving you good blocking too.

And Karen is one of those.

It took a long time. Not as long as the seven hours it took for me to losen up JP, but long enough when two people on the phone are both sick to the gills and half doped from cold medication.

Before calling her, I had this dream that I had already called her up and had given her the idea to the whole movie. I thought it was real.

Of course, in my dream, I was also living in some apartment in an area that i've never seen, on the way to a wedding of someone I have never met but I am supposed to be closely related to, but was worried as hell because I had to pitch a movie to Karen, whom I had talked to the night before (this part is real).

Right before we were about to leave for the ceremony, Karen drops by the apartment, bitching about the fact that she was sick, and late, and she wanted to kill her doctor because he made her search all around town for this one special flu shot (in a yucky, puss yellow color) only to be told that he had prescribed her the wrong thing.

It was a lot to take in, especially when you passed out earlier in the dawn before you could start some work on your day job because of a migraine.

Dreams are supposed to be my way of escaping from reality, right?

Anyway, when I woke up and realized that all that work was for naught and I had to call the real Karen with my hair sticking out and with a cough ridden bedroom sexy voice, I realized that I had a very full day ahead of me.

I have two jobs to work on, which I seemed to have procrastinated all through the weekend, and later on just got too sick to start with.

For some reason, I can never really do work that I don't like when the whether is hot. It kills me. And when I do, the computer shuts down because I need another fan to cool my AMD chipset, and when I get it rebooted a some 15 minutes later, the cold meds would have hit and I need to shut down in order to reboot myself.

It a vicious cycle of laziness and slacker persistence (now there's an oxymoron)

So here I am, having just finished reading my film book and getting all set to work, when suddenly my brain feels like it's all been shoved at the back of my head and my ears feel like i'm underwater.

I have mountain of things to do, but no viable braincells to do them.

The funny part is, it's only when my brains are limping in gray mode do I get this urge to blog and write. It's like the remaining cells get creative just to prove that they can survive.

And good luck to them, because the rest of me is shutting down with this heat.