Little chunks of time float around my head. I see them there, off to the side, waiting for me to figure a way to gather them up. They long for each other the way that I long for them, but the physics are all wrong. I reach and they move away. They scoot closer and I am pushed to the ground. When two of the chunks even get close to each other, I lose consciousness.
But I want to make a movie and I need that time. Without it, there will be no movie. I know that, so I spend a lot of time lying around, thinking of ways to wrap my arms around it all and gather it into one big block.
My only problem, other then not getting the movie made, is that I waste time, thinking of time. It’s a real dilemma. I see it break off and float away before I can do a thing about it. Grabbing at it does no good.
I sometimes wonder if all this time I see floating around is really extra time at all, or if it’s just the pieces of me that floated off when I was too busy thinking or simply doing nothing.
Maybe that’s what my movie should be about. A short film about a man trying to reach out and gather himself back up before he is completely out of time.
Here’s the funny part. I think about this film all the time, but imagine that it would end up looking like nothing more then a man randomly clutching at air.
And no one needs any more of that. Certainly not on film.