I met with a lawyer friend of mine who wants to make a short movie about trees manipulating people with spores. She looked at the notes I’d made on it over the last month, and she told me what she wanted me to focus on.
I then met with an actress who wants to collaborate on a movie of the week, potentially to sell to a local producer she has an in with. It turns out I know this producer too. I was a production assistant on another MOW he shot 7 years ago. As I recall, he was a real grouch on the set. I have a clear recollection of him throwing a tantrum when his fridge wasn't stalked with Perrier, and most of my coworkers seemed to think he was some kind of ogre. Mostly I found his antics entertaining. At one point we were missing a walky-talky and my department thought his girlfriend took it. Of course, no one had the courage to confront him – they wanted ME to do it, (it has to be you, Jack), and as expected, I got a blast from him - he insisted he didn't have it or have time for my stupid bullshit and stormed out in a huff. Then I went through his desk and found it. Problem solved. That’s what I do. This is the man I’m going to be pitching our MOW to. Let’s just hope he’s mellowed with a bit of age. Anyway, she clearly has an in with him. She’s super-gorgeous, and he wants her to audition for an upcoming movie.
As the actress and I talked about our various writing projects, I became conscious of just how much of the subtext of my work is my regret of leaving N/A. My actress friend told me about how her ex wrote her a long letter telling her he had feelings for her, long after the fact. He was engaged by then in fact. She gathered he wanted to get it off his chest. She told me he was glad he did, because she always wanted them to be friends in the end. I miss N/A, the friend. Of course, I miss the lover too, but really, she was by best friend in Toronto. She told me I should write her a letter. I told her that I have, in fact, written her many things that I could never bring myself to send, and poetry too. I’m even working on a slam poem to her, one that I may post later. I told her that every time I sent N/A a message in the past, I got short answers. I felt like she was using the fewest words possible – to be polite, but dismiss the conversation as quickly as possible, but now I’m not so sure. The actress told me that if she doesn’t want to talk to someone, she tells them. There’s no reason to assume someone doesn’t want to talk to you when they don’t say anything of the sort. Maybe I read too much into things. She suggested I make this into a screenplay. I just don’t know how it would end… yet. She says I should talk to her, but at this point, I don’t know. I’m afraid. If I message her, I’ll want her back for sure, and I’m convinced she’s dating the bass player from her band. I don’t want to come crawling out of the woodwork now, because if she’s happy with him, I want her to stay that way. I also don’t want to know, you know? Haha… I have a date on Monday anyway. If it goes well, I’ll tell y’all about her.
You know what? It’s the end of a long day, and I’m in a generous mood, so I’m going to confess something that actually might reach the right person, but I suppose only if she cares enough to check back here every so often. A few weeks ago, a friend of hers posted an update about Nurse Betty on one of my 2009 entries.
My actress friend says she wishes more guys would just let their feelings out. Far too often, she says, guys pretend not to care. Personally, I’ve found that letting all my feelings out has tended to backfire in the past, creating tension and distance between whomever I wanted to get closer too, (an unfortunate self-destructive tendency of the “nice guy” – which is part of why women wind up dating jerks – and ladies, they act this way because they know they can get away with it, so this men are entirely your own fault, just so you know), but at this point, I’ve nothing left to lose, so I just thought I’d admit this.
When I got that message from your friend, I cried. I almost never cry, but I cried when I thought about how much I regret everything. I thought I’d finally forgotten you, but one mention of you, and all my regret came flooding back – my regret that I upset you with my blog, and my regret that I could never make up for what happened to you. I thought I didn’t still care about you, but I clearly do, and I probably always will. As long as I’m alive, anyway.