So, I met this incredible director. She's a machine. Sometimes, I suspect she has some extra part of her brain unlocked that the rest of us mortals lack because she manages to do a million things at multiple places simultaneously. Not just creatively but also simply physically. I caught myself wondering whether she ever sleeps?
Thank the heavens, this wonder woman took a liking to my work, and since we met, she's had me on every project. We did four pitches together and won three. And boy, I tell you, it's a satisfaction. I know this streak might not last, but I ain't gonna lie, it feels great to be crushing it.
Wins are addictive. But, of course, there are losses, too. Curiously, the emotional impact is pretty much the same for me in both scenarios. Whether we win or lose, the meteor strikes with similar intensity, just on different sides of my planet. The part I can't stand is the time in between – the waiting for the result. I always want to know how the pitch played out and spam the directors and producers with 'are-we-there-yet' messages. It must be annoying. After all, the decision is about their job, not mine. I did my part, got paid and adieu.
Well, that's not how it works for me. For example, right now, we've been awaiting the verdict for almost two weeks, and I've already asked the team three times. No news whatsoever. It's even more frustrating because of the time-zone span that forces me to wait nine hours until they wake up. My body seems to know that and imprints the waiting state even into my sleep. Two nights ago, I had a dream about the pitch at stake. And since the project involved a lot of uncensored sex, so did my dream. I didn't mind, but come on, give me a break.
The same night, my significant other had a dream about a man called Doctor Justin Timberlake, who turned out to be quite a funny fella because, after a while, he revealed that his true identity was Doctor Mister Bean. Dreams are awesome. They've always fascinated me. As a kid, I used to imagine placing a camera in front of my bed to record myself during sleep and uncover what was happening while I was dreaming. If I could invent something, it would be a dream transmitter that projects exactly what one sees. All the bizarre scenes, like Timotheé Chalamet, who is also somewhat my mom, telling me I'm a great friend while cooking mushrooms that grow from dead snails.
Unfortunately, I can only fantasize about inventing such a device. Although I wrote my thesis about dreams, it wasn't about the hypothetical electromagnetic quantum multidimensional waves they emit but about Dostoyevsky, who planted so many of them into his stories that he practically became a dream transmitter himself. But he was far from a scientist. He was more like me – an impulsive, impatient individual who disliked waiting so much that all his 500-plus-paged novels take place in just a few days. Not like Tolstoy, whose similarly long opuses span decades. That's actually what waiting feels like to me.
So, once again, I dropped a message to the wonder woman. Still no updates. I wrote to her, 'The wait is so frustrating! I guess even more so for you!' She replied, 'Nah, it’s alright! It’s out of my control, so I kind of have to just let it go and wait to see.' Damn, she's wise. That's why, even if she doesn't win, she doesn't lose. She just keeps doing what she's great at – pursuing her dreams. And in her case, they definitely come alive, even without my transmitting device.
I will use her answer like a mantra that helps me go through the wait:
It’s out of my control, so I have to let it go and wait to see.
Isn't that a perfect description of dreaming, by the way?
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