Pulling me in closer...

It's six am and I've not slept. Gosh it's been an interesting few days.
I dropped someone home at around 3 (more on that later? probably not, not for a few months at least), But when I got home I sat down and started playing piano(Keyboard, technically), I got one for Christmas. Even though it was three, my head was hurting and I was tired, I played till about four-thirty. I really love playing, I'm pretty balls at it but I've not had any real lessons, just a few titbits Martin throws at me. I really wish I were better. Better at piano, better at guitar, better at filming, better at listening, better at remembering and better at writing. But everyone wishes they were better at something. I suppose I don't really wish I were better at anything except having the drive to get better at things. That's the main problem. There's no point wishing about it, it's all fully achievable, all it takes is drive. But how do you attain the drive to do things? I think for me it's people, at the end of last year I had quite a lot of drive to get better at guitar, and I did. For about four months. I was playing because I hated someone, I sort of still do, but it was long ago and it was far away, oh god it feels so very far. And if life is just a highway, then the soul is just a car. Oh, whoops, I fell into some Meat Loaf, sorry. After about four months the main anguish had worn off and I didn't care, I was too depressed to care, never having enough drive to do anything. The only truly creative thing I managed to finish after that faithful October was "Al Gores Magic Enviro-Movie" (I'm trying to get the tapes back so I can re-edit a copy. The original seems to have been swallowed by London Met, stay tuned). It was the only creative thing I did for almost a year, but I did it in November, when my Hate Drive was in top gear. Other than that I managed a vague treatment for a film about parallel universes and teleporty bollocks, a silly action romp disguised as a drama, looking back I see it was silly... It shouldn't be a serious Jason Bournesque film, it should me a mental, madcap Jackie Chan style flick. But it's a sad thought that didn't write for a year. Why not? I don't know, I suppose after a few months that hate consumed everything I wanted to do. I'd given up. It didn't go till the summer. Lately it's picked back up, that treatment I've just mentioned has bubbled up and now I'm thinking of all the ways it could be fun and silly. Other than that though, I got back into playing music. Hell, now I'm actually attempting (badly) to and write some myself. And I'm loving the piano, I don't know why, it just makes me happy sitting there twiddling away at keys. I really should get some lessons though, or read some theory, figure out some scales. Currently I just play random songs that I like, if I got some scales down I could sit there flying around the keyboard for hours.
I'm going to start wrapping this up now as it's taken me half an hour so far. God my head hurts.
The thing I really want drive for though is my writing. I've had actual ideas, but it's all just flying around. I need to get something down but haven't had enough drive to write. If I can't write a silly blog post then how am I going to be able to tell my current mad adventure? I don't know. This other person is helping though, just being around them gives me ideas. Makes my mind soar. Russell T Davies has helped too, there's a fantastic book called Doctor Who: The Writers Tale. Highly recommended for anyone that wants to write.. Well.. Anything really.

But this blog post was mostly down to me. In my head I was screaming at myself to write something, just get started. And eventually, I did. Now forty five minutes later my head still hurts, but I've written a page. Even if it is just a stupid, stupid ramble and none of it means anything. It's still something. Ish.

Maybe tomorrow I'll start work on my adventure game. (Shit. I just lost the game.)

But yeah, that'd be nice.


Peace and Fucking.