Well, ok, there is. But it feels like it's nowhere.
I've been diagnosed with ADD since I was fourteen, and I haven't gone this long without it, during the school year, since my freshman year of high school. It's annoying. I should be writing a script and trying to organize my film shoot this weekend, but no, instead I'm typing up a blog entry. An entry which, at this point, I may not even finish.
It's not like I can't live without it or anything. I can live perfectly fine. It's just hard. Everything is infinitely harder to do simply because my brain can't focus on anything long enough to actually accomplish something. I'll start things like crazy. I'll start things and then get distracted by my room, some music, the damn ceiling...
Even just then, as I was looking around for distracting things to list, I got distracted by the fake flowers on my roommate's desk. I can't even stop myself from being distracted long enough to list things that I'm getting distracted by.
I suppose I should talk about something a bit more interesting than my struggles with my own attention span.
New York Comic Con! I went to New York Comic Con. It was awesome. So many things happened to me, and eventually, I'll probably tell you about them. Batman told me he was the night, Eliza Duskhu was three feet from me, I met the Nostalgia Chick, I grilled Bruce Timm about female characters in the DCAU, was rendered unable to speak for at least three seconds during all of these encounters, sometimes for longer. I got to preview two things, and hang out with my friends, and overall, it was awesome.
I'll write more about it, I promise, I just...you know, got distracted by the light up pumpkin on my desk. It doesn't actually light up anymore. I should really put more batteries into that.
Anyway! Um, what else? Oh! I'm filming a movie this week for "Intermediate Film Production" my current film class. I think it's technically "RTVF 47" but "Intermediate Film Production" just sounds so much more impressive. It's called "The Short Halloween" and is about a little girl who fends off the Joker with a bucket of Halloween candy. I finally got the damn thing cast, I have a location, and I finally have costumes (with considerable help from my Joker who, thankfully, provided his own costume and make up) and despite my raging ADD, seem to be fairly on top of things.
Of course, in film, being "fairly on top of things" translates to "Oh my god, I'm filming this weekend and I'm going to DIE." But, you know, I'm sure I'm not the only one feeling that.
I'd mention that I've been reading a lot of Slender Man blogs lately, but apparently, every time you mention "Slender Man" on a blog, someone, somewhere puts it on a list of possible Slender Man stories. I promise this isn't a Slender Man blog. I've had this blog for years, and I have no intention of turning it into a Slender Man story. This is, and always will be, a place for me to rant and rave and kill a few spare moments.
Apologies to those who have no idea what I'm talking about. Slender Man's a...well, Google it. If you really want to. Just don't plan on sleeping.
Anyway! What else? Um, Halloween is coming up? I wanted to do something really epic, but it's the day after my shoot and I have to read fourteen pages of Fathers and Sons for Russian Literature. I wanted to be Goth Princess Peach, but I'm starting to lean more towards "Overtired College Student" I think I could pull that off pretty easily.
Oh, and speaking of Russian Literature, what the hell is up with Russian Literature? Every story, if it was written during the nineteenth century can be summed up as "This guy who is kind of a dick falls in love with this woman who is either evil and stupid and then tragedy strikes because life is cruel."
Yeah. Sounds pleasant, right?
We just read "First Love" by Ivan Turgenev, which is literally fifty pages detailing this one teenager's semi-abusive relationship with this 21-year-old who's having an affair with his father. In fifty pages...not much happens. There's a lot of dramatic sulking, elderly princesses snorting from snuff boxes, contemplation of the protagonist's navel, and people getting hit with horse whips. When you list things off like that, it actually sounds pretty exciting.
It's not. It's really, really not.
While it is, by no means, on par with Ethan Frome in terms of sheer excruciating literary agony, it's not something I would ever choose to read again. Here is a rough transcript of the conversation my roommate and I had after we finished it:
Roommate: I hate Russian Literature.
Me: All of it?
Roommate: All of it.
Me: Oh, come on, it's just one story.
Roommate: And all the others. I want to kill myself.
Me: Ok, well, that's fair. But, what about that one about the two Russian officers stuck on an island? We liked that one.
Roommate: That's because they were cray-cray!
To be honest, I don't actually know how to spell "cray cray" but that is an exact quote.
So yeah, despite the fact that my professor said at the beginning of the semester that he was going to try to break the misconception that all of Russian Literature was dark, depressing, angst-ridden tales of torment, he hasn't really given us much else to read. It's all been, literally, a dick-ish protagonist, an evil or stupid woman, some romantic mishaps, then tragedy.
Except of course for that one about the two Russian officers stuck on an island. That was hilarious.
So yeah, I don't think I have much else to say. I have to go to the bathroom, my hair is up, there's a large coffee cup and a coke next to me, I have more to do than I can possibly keep track of, and last weekend Batman told me he was the night.
I think that about sums it up.
I hope this adderall shortage ends soon. I don't know how much more of this I can take.