Bleary-eyed boy

Yes, that is me. Stumbling home at ungodly hours every night for the past two weeks. We are thisclose to picture lock for the film and it's feeling really good. I'm so glad I'm past the cringy rough cut stage, as Enzo has really outdone himself and served the story well. The closer I am to finishing this film the less tired I get, simply because the next phase is underway and it fills me up with that awesome feeling of progress. That trumps day-job fatigue any day.

Just so much going on, and physically it's taking its toll I suspect. Thank God it's Ulty season once again so at least I can still stay in reasonable shape despite my predilection for staying up till 3 or 4 in the morning.

I don't know why I even bother- trying to maintain a normal person's hours when my peak times are really when everyone else is asleep. I've tried so many times to write during afternoons but I simply can't because the afternoon sun blasts in my face taunting me to go out and play.

Living right next to King's Cross doesn't help either- I live right above a homeless shelter and for some reason they're always pissed off at one another. The main argument always seems to be who stole who's cigarettes: "OI YEW STOWL ME FUCKIN SIGRETS YA CAHNT!" is a sound that frequently punctuates the air.

There is also the neighbour who always seems to be repairing something in his flat. With a drill. A bloody loud one. He must have the world's largest collection of picture frames to hang because I kid you not the bastard just drills every damn day.

And finally, there is the tenant directly below me who loves waking up in the morning to Michael Jackson's Greatest Hits CD. Now, anyone who knows me well knows I'm down with MJ as I used to do a fair bit of moonwalking when I was a young lad who didn't know any better. Truth be told, when the lady kicks off with the Off The Wall and Thriller stuff it's all good. It's when she ventures into Dangerous territory that's when I tune out.

And so does the rest of the building. One day, the CD was cranking: "And the whole world has to answer right now just tell you once again...WHO'S BAD??"

"Your fucking music, now shut the fuck up!" Was my neighbour's cheery reply. It was 8am on a Sunday morning.

And so you can see (and hear) why I prefer to do most of my work (if you call writing that) at night- weekends aside, the Cross is eerily silent during these hours and there's just a stillness about it that makes me feel so wide awake. This is when I'm on, and if I must suffer the health consequences and run the risk of being late for work everyday, then so be it. So long as I manage to do what I'm really meant to do, then it's all worth it.