Upon completion of another scene in 1022 Ocean Avenue, I sit stretching upright breathing in a new day to reach for the light.
Interested to read a bit from the screenplay? Whether you are or not, you shall be subjected to forthwith:
INT. LIVING ROOM — DAY
(interruption: I happily rediscovered how to make an em dash on a Mac. Using Final Draft hinders the memory of a pseudo-analog edit. This only briefly excites while I wrestle with eyeballing and coding screenplay format; then deciding to screw it and just write.)
INT. LIVING ROOM — DAY
Sam sits at her large oak table among disheveled books and papers, typing feverishly on the keyboard. She mumbles with each completed virtual keystroke.
SAM
To live and love within walls that confine. Our space once renown and
revered, now buried and smeared by the changing gale force that
occupies our working lives. Falling inside out. Changes from a spout
through which pours unending agony of doubt.
Reshape. Recommence. A silent war waged between the antagonistic
au courant and the memory.
I watch. I study. I plan while trying to inspire the inquisitive minds who
look to me for a soft landing in this unending shitshow.
Blair walks in, disturbing the air.
BLAIR
Well, that’s melancholy.
She sets down a large cup of steaming coffee on a coaster to the right of the computer in front of Sam.
BLAIR
I just received a nice note from one of my students on the back of his
final exam:
“Have a nice trip and don’t ditch us for Europe.”
Sam doesn’t look up.
SAM
(wistfully)
Another who cares. I would appreciate that. Perhaps I’ll find a kernel
among the seventy-five, 5000-word essays I’ve yet to grade.
Blair drags a wooden table chair around next to Sam. She places her arm around Sam’s shoulders with a firm grasp on her right deltoid as Blair leans in to read more. She slowly recites.
BLAIR
I’m falling apart inside the word “difficult” which names the meme that
smothers the myriad spaces of our collective minds, classrooms, offices,
and halls. Students gather with shell-shocked faculty traveling to and from
the buzz of their lives in a disappointing dream.
She leans back unhooking her hug and expels a LOUD SIGH.
BLAIR (con’t)
Babe. Ouch. You’ve got to get out. Let’s grab our bikes and ride over to Sunrise
On The Coast, shall we? I feel like a bagel and lox.
SAM
You certainly don’t look like a bagel lox, but I could…
Blair interrupts pulling Sam up off the chair; twists her toward the hallway and directs Sam from behind with both hands gently pushing.
BLAIR
Onward to our day, madame. A shower awaits. You need to move some limbs.
Some things never change. Change merely brings the same in the circle of publicly-funded notions radiating from the corrupt minds of power. The pawns who are moved around the squares are not happy.
