I have a re-write to do on a script. For my ex-boyfriend's show. It's the last show of the series - supposedly - and so I attempted to take a not-so-stellar-outline and turn it into a somewhat-stellar script. As this is rare occurrence upon the first round of writing, I'm hacking away at the re-write.
To say it's going slowly is an understatement.
Every time I turn a page, every moment I pen a joke, every line of dialogue I speak in my head I hear him. We spent hours sitting at our respective desks, jabbering back and forth, turning stories inside and out. Dinnertime was spent with cocktails and character discussion. Our work areas were chock full of post-its with bits of dialogue scribbled on them - mine in my looping scrawl, his in his neat block letters.
It's nearly eight months later. I've been on dates, I've kissed boys, I've gained enough perspective to know that there'll be Someone Else, at some point. But that twinge in my gut is still there.
I keep telling myself that it's a result of The Panic: the bank account is dwindling. The rent is due. I miss the stuff. Because that's what I want it to be. The stuff can always be had with someone else.
I've just got a touch of Relationship Indigestion. It'll go away. It always does. I just need to find a job, a winning lottery ticket, or an in-case-of-emergency-just-break-glass makeout partner. If you know where any of those can be found, you know where to find me.
