Paging Dr.Smallz. 1/14/2021
I hate my life.
I wholeheartedly hate my life.
I want to take my mirror down in my bathroom because the reflection makes me ill. It's fastened to the wall, drilled in with an unmovable permanence. I can avoid it by averting my gaze, but the reflection is stubborn in my peripheral.
I am no closer to my goals than when I graduated high school. How sad it is to finally realize at 32 that I have failed in every way possible with little to no money, making little to no money, and with zero opportunities?
As of late, I owned up to a character flaw: I have a Ph.D. in bridge-burning. I'm Dr. Smallz; how can I help you? Oh, I see you want to burn a bridge! Make sure you use mid-grade with 89 octanes. It'll burn right up!
I have zero industry connections; they have all moved on in their careers. I have watched individuals who started at the same level as me blossom in the industry, making money while traveling worldwide. The dream.
What's the dream?
Film making. I went to college but dropped out when my friend dropped out. I made a life choice because a friend made his own individual choice. Major mistake. I should have stayed and earned my Associate in Science at Valencia for Film Technologies, a two-year degree, and finished at UCF for my bachelor's in Film Studies.
Instead, I followed my friend to a run-down film and sound tech, an 8-month school in a ghetto part of Orlando. 13,000 dollars to attend an 8-month program. It suited my friend well because he was a sound major, and the school initially started as a sound engineering-orientated facility.
However, the film side was a complete shit show. I spent 13,000 to sit in a class and watch YouTube tutorials. We were supposed to graduate with a commercial, music video, a short documentary, and a short film in our demo reel. We left with nothing. We had the first 3 and a butchered short film meant for the garbage. None of it was watchable because we didn't know what the fuck we were doing. I should've stayed in Valencia.
I did go back eventually. After finishing and receiving a worthless piece of paper, I realized I was fucked, so I returned to Valencia the following fall. And it was great! Spent the semester with a solid short film that premiered at a small local festival in a small theater. I made a film I saw on the big screen for the first time. It felt so exhilarating, and I felt like an actual filmmaker. Then, I dropped out the following semester because a friend hooked me up with a gig on So You Think You Could Dance in Atlanta. Another mistake: I'll follow this chapter in a different blog. I'm tired, and it's late.
I was about 25 when I dropped out of Valencia for the second time.
The last film I made is being edited as I type. Poor planning, communication, and writing produced a flawed movie. It's being salvaged somewhat, but it won't be my vision as I failed to capture it. Peder, the editor, will do wonders, I'm sure.
I knew I wanted to be a filmmaker when I was in high school at 15 years old. When I was 25, I told myself I would make a feature film, and by 30, I would be a working film director.
At 32, I am nothing.
