So, assuming that riches and fame are not in the offing.... I'm spending time in the next few weeks trying to tame my panic. I'm like my buddy who needs to see all the film equipment he owns on the shelves in front of him rather than rely on lists and storage schemes. I need to break myself of the need to have everything in my head at the same time. Bleh. I'd rather be acting.
Monday, August 31, 2009
I resist organizing myself. Don't like it. Don't like it because I grow compulsive, and the more compulsive I grow, the more confused I am. My (first) ex-wife called me "the most organized disorganized person" she ever knew. Cells in a spreadsheet tear away from their organized rows and columns to become little devilish foci of possible exceptions to the rules the spreadsheet supposedly sets forth. I imagine too much. Sub-sets multiply. I crash more frequently than my lap top. I have bought more than one piece of organization software that lies dormant in my "backup software" folder, because I hate entangling myself in them. I need a business manager, which means I need to be rich and famous to make this work. Oh, shit.