Every time I go to a film festival (approx 4-5 times per year), Tim and I go through exactly the same awful process. Like clockwork. The first few days we have a hard time calling each other because of different time zones and because I'm in and out of screenings but we'll chat here and there and it's always sweet and my day is filled with "miss you, I love you" sporadic little bursts of cuteness. Then Day 3 hits, and I'm starting to get a little bit tired and he tells me not to get tired but those are fool's words since we are working pretty much 24 hours a day. One is expected to be available at any moment and it's unacceptable not to reply to an email within 15 minutes of receiving it. I check my email all night for reviews and other Variety updates and now I'm also forced to follow tweeters at the festivals and blah blah blah. THE POINT is that it's insane and sleep becomes secondary. Which of course leads to moodiness which in turn leads to relationship strain. So at this point (end of Day 3 into 4), I'm tired and a little cranky but we're still fine. Then Day 5 rolls around
Day 5 is the official point of disaster. This is where it all falls apart. It is always caused by my decision to go to a big party and the real mistake in calling Tim when I am on my way home. The rationale from my end, of course, is that part of my job description is to be social and if it means staying at the Wild Bunch party until 5am, then damnit, I am gonna stay at the Wild Bunch party til 5 am. I am just doing my job.
Okay, so I'll admit that I have an unusual job and it's probably not what he wants to hear and that I probably shouldn't send him the scary photos from the parties, but what can I say? I want him to understand! That never happens however, and Tim always gets mad when he gets that 5am call and it usually ends in "call me tomorrow, I can't talk to you right now."
Day 6 is when the darkness really sets in. We fight all day while I'm hungover and yet still trying to deal with reviews and company dinners and scheduling second screenings and fielding calls from sales agents about why we aren't buying their films. I think you can probably understand my frazzled state of mind here. It's what they call the Festival K-Hole* and the only remedy for the Festival K-Hole is going out again the next night. And so the whole cycle continues on again for a few more days until the end is finally in sight (Day 8 or 9, depending on the festival) and my marriage turns into a wobbly mess and our conversations consist solely of counting down the minutes until I fly home, lest we talk about our mutual anger towards one another and inability to be rational.
So here I am, reporting live from deep in the trenches of Day 8 in Cannes 2010. Tim hates me, I hate myself, and there is another yacht party tonight. Hopefully there will be strippers again like their were at this yacht party:
I can't even keep it all straight any more. Kill me now. Au revoir
| *K-Hole | 219 up, 20 down | |
the state of mind caused by taking large amounts of ketamine. the user becomes trapped in state of detatchment from their physical presence; the user can think about moving their arm, and will then see an arm moving in front of them, but the link between the thought and the moving arm does not register. the senses also become distorted, objects appear to move closer or further away resulting in the user's sight becoming fixed to one point, fearing looking away from that point as the distortions are disorientating and in the worst cases can cause nausea. the combination of these effects leave the user feeling trapped in a frozen state, as if stuck in a hole peering out; hence the expression 'k-hole' the party animal ingested enough ketamine to tranquilize a family of large bagders, it was all going fine until he found himself in the k-hole, staring at a tile on the floor for 2 hours, unable to move. | ||
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