A restless night; periods of sleep, followed by fifteen minutes of bleary-eyed waking time, followed by sleep, followed by...you get the idea.
During the waking moments the mind will wander. Times like this, I often start half-hearted writing projects in my head: random bits of dialogue, character sketches, whatever. Nothing ever comes of these brainstorming sessions, because ideas that sound great running through a grungy head at 1 AM prove to be utter crap in the unforgiving light of day.
But even by these standards, what the hell was my problem last night? Did I eat the wrong thing before bedtime? Because every time my eyes would snap open, I'd immediately start composing what, in my mind, was the most lucid essay ever.
About the movie Anaconda.
Now, because this was a terrible idea occurring to me in the middle of the night, I'm a little fuzzy on what may have been the substance of this piece. I suspect it may have had something to do with the surprisingly fine cast and tech crew assembled for what is, after all, an amazingly stupid exploitation movie. If that was my argument, it's severely undercut by the fact that I'VE NEVER EVEN SEEN ANACONDA IN THE FIRST PLACE!
Sure, I've seen chunks of it--to subscribe to a basic cable channel is to have seen bits and pieces of all sorts of movies you'd never normally watch--but I've never done it the courtesy of watching straight through. So really, how could I fairly judge it?
I couldn't. And I have no desire to judge it, or to see it, for that matter. I don't care about it one way or the other. So why was I thrashing about in bed last night, convinced that I alone could compose the definitive treatise on Anaconda?
Ask me when I'm half-asleep. The answer won't make sense to you, but in my mind it will be brilliant.
