It’s over. Finally. I watched two full DVDs of “Battlestar Galactica” (the first two for season 2.5, for those who know anything about this). It’s now after midnight and I’m drained. I gorged myself on media and I’m sick to my stomach. It wasn’t good. It’s never about goodies or pleasure. It’s about completing a meaningless project. There is no pleasure in this journey; there is only pleasure at its conclusion: late at night with little rest and no writing.
But my feast is over. I will not return these videos until after the weekend to ensure I don’t smother the days off by staring into space. The shows were good, but they were not great. How can consuming anything be great? Creation is great. Consumption is adequate. It fills you up but leaves you empty afterwards. Creation is painful and guts wrenching and leaves you skinny and unsatisfied. It’s only the next day after you’ve created something that you realize that it really did hit the spot, only at the time you were too exhausted to realize it.
I’ll return to writing real words soon. For now, I’ll content myself with these exhausted musings. The first puking I’ve done in a while.