Most of my writerly time has been dedicated to writing, deleting, writing some more, deleting it, and then finally going back and deciding the scene doesnt work, re-writing the entire thing, and then it ends up in the same place that I started at and didn’t like, but maybe it’s garnered psychosis, because I now find myself now absolutely loving the scene after all that. Am I rambling? Yes. Is this how writing the script for “Oh Hillary” has been going? No, but it’s funnier1 if I say, yes. So, yes, this is precisely how writing my script has been going.
Since I have been a little lesser in my Substacking efforts, I figured the world, yes, the world is owed an apology, or at least an explanation of where I have been and what I have been doing.
3:30 AM: Wakeup. Night terrors again.
3:45 AM: Still staring at the ceiling. Think about bread.
4 AM: Manage to pass out.
5 AM: Wakeup, the night terrors were there again. They followed me from dream to dream…
5:01 AM: Check NYT Games Leaderboards, Chloe hasn't done The Mini yet. Until I beat her, life has no meaning.
5:05 AM: Scroll through The NYT’s app, get upset that no one listens to me, the world would be a lot better if they did.
5:06 AM: Thrive off of male ego.
5:45 AM: Wait for Alice to wake up; she already has, she's gone for five runs and a swim.
5:46 AM: Touch pillow you think is Alice, realise it is just a pillow with some blankets on it.
5:47 AM: Realise you have been monologing to a pillow about Disney World for half an hour.
6:30 AM: Come to terms with the fact that even when noticing it’s a pillow and not your girlfriend, you still gladly explain Disney history to it for another half hour.
6:31 AM: Alice returns; she brings bread.
7 AM: I man, I eat bread, bread good.
7:01 AM: Lose to Chloe at The NYT Mini.
7:03 AM: Bread has been eaten. You sit pantsless in a desk chair. Stare at an empty “Pages” file on your Mac.
7:30 AM: Write the day’s date on the page.
7:45 AM: Write your name on the page, too.
10:30 AM: Add last name and page number to the heading of a still, essentially, blank document.
12:30 PM: Alice has made an eight-course lunch; tell her that you are taking a break from writing to eat it.
1:30 PM: Consider having a bourbon, but declare to her that you are going back to work. Knock over her flash cards, pick them up, and joke that her handwriting stinks.
1:35 PM: Realise that her handwriting doesn't stink, and that she is writing in Latin.
2 PM: Think of an apology for Alice; her handwriting is good, but Latin just looks ugly.
2:05 PM: Tell Alice that you think she is far more beautiful than Latin looks on the page, and that you are sorry.
2:30 PM: Struggle to dig yourself out of a newly dug hole.
4:45 PM: Give up on the apology, because holy shit you have an idea.
6:29 PM: Feel a sense of absolute euphoria as the words flow from your fingertips, poetically clacking their way onto the page, and accidentally look at the clock. See that dinner happens in a minute at the dining hall.
6:30 PM: Give up writing. Tell Alice about dinner. Learn that she is actually making dinner instead. Offer to make dinner. You end up making dinner.
7:30 PM: Dinner is good. Alice seems pleased. Realise it’s seven thirty, and go open the bar with Alice.
11:30 PM: Home from the bar, realise you have a great idea, continue your writing.
1 AM: Alice tells you she wants to go to bed. Time to turn off the lights. Time to, ahem, quietly type.
2 AM: Sneak into bed. Kiss her on the cheek. Reflect on the magic of life as you feel her leg against yours. Decide that everything is perfect, that God exists, and that he must be good.
2:05 AM: Finally start to fall asleep. Await the terrors…
Awe, isn’t that sweet, it’s a lie, but isn’t that sweet, golly gee— Oh Me Oh My, I may just cry. Let me dab these pesky little tears away. A little spooky towards the end, but hey, what is love if not… if not. What is love? Who am I? Is this what they call sundowning?
Jokes aside, man, Im out here, busting my hump! Camels beware— humps are getting busted. You all have not, dare I say— ain't seen nothing yet. “Oh Hillary” is gonna take over Edinburgh, like Chlymida at Arizona state, we're gonna be in everything but the drinking water. So go buy tickets!
Oh, Hillary: Theater for people who hate theater. Stay for the laughs. Run for the bathroom. Wake up, knowing that you definitely need to get tested in two weeks.
I know “funnier” isn’t a word, I am a, ahem-ahem-ahem Cambridge Man after all.