As work on Lackadaisy nears its final month, I find myself with less and less time for personal things. Even my Thanksgiving was mostly sleep and whatever I could toss in the oven for an hour or less. The sleep was the luxury. I had just wrapped up the very last shot of the project (which ironically, was the first shot) and following that marathon of animation I wanted nothing more than to pass out for multiple days.
Alas, my brain was still on fire as I worked out the schedule for December. Everything has to come at a certain day, at a certain time, with a liberal amount of wiggle room for inevitable delays. The plague has taught me: plan around the worst case scenario. If it doesn’t happen, you’re fine! If it does happen, you’re still fine. And then add more time still because you never know when an apocalyptic disaster will hit.
That comes off as very bleak, but my confidence has never been higher. Flexibility means that much to me. It’s when I lack choices (or those choices are out of my hands) that I get nervous. The inevitable creep of the new year approaches; its trials rising ominously over time’s horizon.
There’s a feeling I get when I’ve been at a task for too long. It’s like I’m pulling a cart along a dirt road and the wheels have worn grooves into the earth so deep that there’s no deviating from the journey. And no matter how happily I pull that little cart, I end up yearning for the wilder trail the path used to be. Overgrown with vegetation, tiny rocks catching against the spokes and wild animals cutting across my path.
Times like that, I have to take a little mental break. The trail has to go fallow. But I can’t afford to let it rest for long. That cart must get down the road. But on occasion, I pause to toss some water on the weeds.