Three More Dots (That’s 6 Now)

I’m still Ukrainian today.

5-something. I’ll take it. When it comes to waking up, it beats the usual 3-something. … Oops. I didn’t do that one thing from last Sunday at church. Better late than never? Probably not, but I’m doing it anyway, because that’s how I roll. Be right back. Back (see?). I’ll do better next time. Or at least that’s what I’ll tell myself. …  SELF: Dude, you wrote about a half a page on the script this week. You’re blocked. ME: No, I’m not. It’s a time thing. Crazy week at work. 14-hour days. SELF: Oh, but I see you have time to blog. ME: This isn’t a blog, it’s a three dot thing. SELF: Yep, blocked. ME: Go back to sleep and leave me alone. … Things in the Ukraine seem like they’re moving in a good direction, but it still feels like a powder keg. …  What’s up with the all the hyperbolic headlines in social media? It’s like everybody took a class. I might rename this post. I’m thinking “The Last Three-Dot Post You Will Ever Read.” (Although this could be the final post anyone ever reads on this blog after such a headline, so in a way, maybe it’s not hyperbole.) … After a 2-year hiatus, I think the BOB Collective (working title of the indie filmmakers resource group) might be coming back. And legit this time. With real professionals on board like legal and accounting and stuff. Going to try to carve out a little time today to write up an element of it that I think is key — the chain of virtual art houses that — SELF: Yep, anything to keep from working on the script. ME: Leave me alone. Or if you insist on bothering me, at least throw me an idea. SELF: I gave you the yarn sweater thing. ME: That was a couple of weeks ago. SELF: Must I always carry you? ME: It’s your job. SELF: And your job is butt in the chair. ME: Leave my butt out of it. … Speaking of which, I should start jogging again. Wait, it’s 25 out there. Let’s pencil the jogging thing for next week. … Speaking of not jogging, I had a small Sonic blast Oreo shake last night (thanks, Dano) after giving it a miss last weekend in my latest scientific attempt to see whether I’m becoming lactose intolerant. I feel fine this morning. This is good news. Very good news indeed. … Went to the temple Thursday. I miss Liken. No reason. … A couple of people asked me this week what is up with The Fork, the thing that was born a dozen years ago as a screenplay idea, becomes a 10-minute play, won a couple of small festivals, was adapted into a full-length play, had a staged reading last summer, and was halfway through its rewrite when “The First Christmas” came back for its second year and my dad became sick. I didn’t have a good answer to The Fork question, but glad people still care, because I still love the show. Is “Lily in the Land of the Frozen People” (new working title, the sixth I believe) blocking The Fork or is The Fork blocking Lily? ME: Not asking you. SELF: Not saying a word. … My phone just told me the Ukraine parliament has removed its president. Promising news. Still dangerous times, I suspect, but thanks, phone. … Better get moving. Nephew getting his Eagle. Impressive. I stopped at 7 merit badges, which made me a Star, which sounded perfectly adequate to me. … I don’t know much about other religions, but when it comes to ours, I think a lot of our people are sort of losing sight of the point. SELF: You’re a fine one to talk. ME: Who asked you? Go back to nagging me about writing. … The last time I wrote a three-dotter stream of consciousness thing, my dad commented on it. “Your stream of typing shows you have a lot on your plate, maybe too much, maybe you should cut down on something.” I miss him. …