[insert witty and/or thought-provoking title here]
What follows is a step-by-step transcript of the past twenty-four hours, in short:
Anja and I have just had a rather inspiring production meeting by the water in Hornstull and have now relocated to (my personal favourite café in Stockholm) Copacabana where we’re now looking at potential child actors to contact for casting. The atmosphere has continued along the relaxed and inspired line, until suddenly it makes U-turn and for some inexplicable reason we go our separate ways during quite tense and anxious circumstances.
I am struggling with my insomnia and a state of anxiety that has gradually grown out of all proportions since I got home. I’m distracting myself from stupidity by watching old Filip & Fredrik clips on YouTube until I realise what time it is and that I have to get up in a few hours.
My anxiety has now migrated to the prospect of getting up at five and start my new day job, one I’ve dreaded starting since before I even signed up for it, and I’m actually panicking a little.
I log into my Internet bank and check my balance, then get my calculator (app) out and do a little frantic math and work out that, if I live really cheap (i.e. don’t spend any money at all outside rent etc), I will actually make ends meet this month without the extra income of these four days – so I won’t have to start my new job until the 10th after all.
I can finally get some sleep.
My alarm goes off – I go back to sleep.
I get up and make coffee, glad to be home instead of at work – and at the same time, still feeling anxious. Anja has sent me an email saying she doesn’t have the energy to produce anything right now, but if I’m for pulling this off by myself she’ll be happy to shoot the film. I don’t reply – not because I’m being childish or trying to make a point or anything, but because I’m actually contemplating dropping everything and disappear.
I write this in my journal:
“On days like this, of which I have much too many and all too often, when anxiety roots itself like an emotional tumour inside, one immune to both chemo and positive Placebo thinking, you start to question everything, your own existence in particular for some reason, and resolutely you’re met with a resounding and poignant echo in reply – possibly because you ask these questions in the safe yet also selective privacy of your own mind and rarely dare to actually voice them (and for good reason – any such act of self-pity can only ever be interpreted as compliment fishing and would immediately be classified as “pathetic”) – Somehow I’ve fallen into the anonymity illusion trap of my Internet generation and figured I’ll actually get away with it since I’m still, technically, not voicing them, but typing them, in the pathetic sanctuary that is my wardrobe-like room.”
I notice for the first time that I have a missed phone call and a new voice message – I listen to it, it’s one of my favourite actors who is confirming that he’s still interested in participating in my film project this autumn.
Time for another cup of coffee.