It’s 6:19am and I have a full day ahead. I had just emailed my script for today and I know that my segment producer will bite my head off once we meet later in the studio. I’ve been preoccupied with something lately. Nothing monumental but it’s distracting nonetheless. I am reading the love letters in Criticine while hoping to get picked up in Mirc. Only I don’t really want to get picked up and cheat on my boyfriend it’s just that its 6:19 in the morning and I’m kind of tired and I just need some well-deserved release.
I thought some of the letters were lovely. In Criticine, I mean. I thought the idea of sending a love letter to your favorite filmmaker is lovely. I, myself, wondered whom I would write a letter to. I thought I’d send something to Woody Allen since I just saw Annie Hall again and I fell in love with Woody and Diane and New York and Woody’s wit and Diane’s wardrobe but then I’m not exactly fully acquainted with Woody’s oeuvre. Maybe I should write one for Wong Kar Wai instead. Him, I entirely get. But I do know that such exercise is a bit self-indulgent since in reality I will not be writing the love letter for Wong Kar Wai but I will be writing it for myself.
I need a cigarette break.