400 miles from home in a place that I used to call home

Nathan Baker, Pot from the Rupture series via Amy Stein

Today, on the on-again, off-again early Fall rain, I drove four hundred miles south to the home of my family. For three weeks I will be living under the same roof as my parents (!), working as an editor (no longer a director), and most importantly, not working on my film which is supposedly done. I can barely admit it to myself, but the fact of the matter is that I am mostly depressed about the film, and I am not quite sure if it is because I think it could be better (there really is nothing more painful than sitting behind a sound mixer for hours on end, becoming inured to your own film as it's images flash repeatedly at varying intervals in front of your eyes and questioning every edit decision along the way) or if it is more of a post-partum blues kind of thing where the pain of letting go rivals the confusion of not knowing who I am anymore if I am not working on the film (something I have been doing for six years now).

You'd think there'd be some joy buried in here somewhere, and I keep waiting for it to hit me, some relief, some thing. But all I can manage right now is wavering between reviewing the credits yet again (gotta make sure I remember every one!), fucking around with the font size of my subtitles, chewing my nails over the score (which is actually the one thing I can't control since I am not much of a musician), and feeling like it may in fact, really be just, well, done, and even if it's not great, at least, it's all over.

I think the troops will rally here, and when I say the troops, I am really referring to me, myself and I. I am really, really looking forward to–at least, on a theoretical level–not being in control of every little thing, not having to look at my film every day, and diving into something new. I am also looking forward to establishing some new routines in my life, like writing regularly (as opposed to guiltily or desperately squeezing it in), making shorter, smaller and more introspective pieces, walking around and exploring the familiar yet always re purposed terrain of my crazy home town, hanging out with the good friends I never get to hang out with down here, and getting back to at least one of those things that are supposed to be good for you like yoga, or biking or whatever the hell it is, that'll put me back in touch with my neglected post-production corpse of a body.

There. Not very exciting. Not yet. But changing. And like the Phoenix from the ashes, or at least, the larva from the cocoon, we are hoping something new will happen here.