A trembling cymbal and fine motor control of a rhythmic iteration have brought me to my senses.
I’ve realised what it feels like not to have been showing up to work.
Possibly for years.
I put more time and effort into my transitory job, than into the reasons I took this low paid but commitment-lite work in the first place.
I know what “bone tired” feels like, but it’s not a sensation I’ve had for years. I’ve not poured my heart and soul into anything, and it’s killing me.
Whiplash is a raw film about the demands and exhilaration of excellence.
I have a moderate life and I detest myself for it.
I fear late nights, when I am at my most productive, for feeling tired and raw the next day. I think, better go to sleep, and have that lie-in anyway because I’m really not at my best then anyway.
This year, my aimless existence has even been subsidised by a sibling, so I can’t even claim self sufficiency.
I feel deeply uncomfortable in my high level of comfort.
Before I slept: 2 drawings. An attempt at Terence Fletcher’s concentrated but at once contemplative face (a justly oscar worthy performance from JK Simmons), and a scribblier Miles Teller in a relatively neutral pose from the final scene. Expressions and likenesses are obviously a challenge. In particular with regard to Teller, I’ve learned from this to choose a stronger facial expression to give the thing some life!
On looking at these images again this morning, I made some adjustments – but my international adaptor is currently in Seville, so better to upload these now than later.