Something happened to me this week — I’ve once again returned to some sort of theater binge. I rushed to Passing Strange on Wednesday to catch it before it’s gone. Last night, I moseyed to Legally Blonde: The Musical last night to catch Laura Bell Bundy before she leaves the show on Sunday and is replaced by the winner of an MTV reality show next week. I’m hoping to catch Adding Machine: A Musical before it shuts down this weekend. I have a ticket to Some Americans Abroad next week, and I re-subscribed to several of the memberships I had but did not fully use last year. And then, for some stupid reason, I added a few more.
I still haven’t seen Spring Awakening, August: Osage County, In the Heights, Gypsy or Xanadu. I might try to get to one of those this weekend as well. I’d probably go to something tonight if I wasn’t already fulfilling my three year anticipatory wait for The Dark Knight. OMG … the movies. There’s so much to see … new and old. And I still haven’t finished the TCM Asian Images in Film series I have TiVo’d in my bedroom. And the summer series … and just … summer … and outside … and books and too many magazine subscriptions … and work and play and non-job work and ….
Distractions. I’m an expert. I distract myself from one thing or another constantly. I tell myself I want to accomplish one thing or I want to do this and that, but instead I simply find ways to distract … myself. Enjoyable, sometimes productive … but distractions and lack of focus nonetheless. I determined earlier this year I didn’t want this blog to be a personal diary; I wanted to get back to writing more opinion and criticism. And then … I didn’t. Write. Now I find myself forcing again — pushing to sit and focus and type and watch the black squiggles turn into words across my screen. I have something — many things — to say, and yet, it all comes out as — what? Nothing? Something? Some thingS?
I’m an addict, for sure. A film addict. A theater addict. A music addict. A television addict. A magazine addict. A pop culture addict. A politics addict. A debate addict. A talkative addict. A thought addict. A noise addict. An activity addict — even if somehow I manage to be a lazy one. A people addict. A solitude addict. An outdoors addict. An air conditioning addict. A contradiction addict. A stress addict.
How does one break so many addictions? I don’t know. Which of them actually need breaking? I can’t say. Which are productive? Which are destructive? How do I get everything just a wee bit more into balance and … well … focus.
I’m starting now. I’m starting next weekend. I’m starting. I’m going on a meditation and writing retreat next weekend in the Catskills. It’s not like anything I’ve done before. But I want to find away to distract me from my distractions. Will it work? We’ll just have to see. It’s only a couple days. It’s my baby step before trying something similar (minus the writing) but much more hardcore and drastic. Something that quite simply I find terrifying because I often find that when I spend that much time with myself and nobody or nothing else … it’s not always comfortable. I can’t even say why … I can’t even call it boring … I can only imagine it because it’s not something I ever EVER do.
In addition to not writing, I haven’t really been doing that much reading. But I did see recently an online “discussion” once again examining how much personal is too personal to throw out there on the web — what’s the motivation for everyone to share their sex lives, their innermost thoughts and fears? For who really cares? Well, I don’t have enough readers anymore to think that anybody does, but I suppose I want to go back to focusing on what was at least a part of the reason I started Out of Focus over four years ago — for me. I’m going to write for me. Or, I may wind-up not writing for me. But I’m not creating samples; I’m not looking for a job; I’m not looking for agreement nor the opposite; I’m not looking to provoke; I’m not looking to brag; I’m not looking to prove; I’m not looking for acceptance. I’m not looking. I’m just writing. I’m doing it here because when I do it here it seems to be easier. And if there’s anything interesting or compelling that anyone reading wants to follow, welcome.
And all of this could be moot tomorrow, and I’ll wind-up writing nothing but memoir, or nothing but film reviews, or nothing but random linkage (although I doubt that).
We’ll see. For now … I need to cut the self-reflection and return to the distraction. Unhealthy … maybe. But Batman (and the inevitable line) awaits!
Out of Focus 