There’s a building not far from my house that takes me back to December of 2004 each time I drive past. It’s not a good memory, but rather one that still gives me shivers eight and a half years later.
It’s the memory of a night I suddenly couldn’t remember what I was doing and freaked out as I tried to do my job.
We were close to finishing the first day of shooting for my short film, “We’re the Government — and You’re Not.” Even though I didn’t really know what I was doing, I was the writer and director, and I was sharing the producer duties. I honestly didn’t know until that day just how little I knew.
Even though the day had been a blur, things had generally gone well except for my car having a flat tire at the next-to-last shooting location of the day. (I rode around on the little “doughnut spare” all weekend because I didn’t have time to fix the tire.) I was waiting for one last prop to come in the mail. It was days late, but we thought it would be there. I ran to my house and it wasn’t there — and it was time to shoot the scene. I didn’t have a back-up plan.
When the state turns you into a criminal, friends become enemies
Shame almost got me fired — and shame still haunts me years later
Why do tax dollars fund lavish lifestyles for bureaucrats?
Why can it feel strange to lose homes we haven’t seen for years?
What’s your goal? Do you want to blow off steam or find solutions?
Love’s closest counterfeit sounds like love but acts like selfish need
FRIDAY FUNNIES
I’d forgotten what I said about her necklace, but she hadn’t forgotten
FRIDAY FUNNIES