Painful Awareness

[TOM is sitting alone in a cafe, hugging himself lightly. He's staring at the table in front of him]

[Enter AMANDA]

AMANDA: Hey... what's with the look?

TOM: What? Oh... just became a bit...

AMANDA: Nostalgic? You look nostalgic.

TOM: A bit... We're eighteen, Amanda. Did you realise that? We're eighteen and... and what? We pick our college courses and... and...

AMANDA: And we're finally free of this God-forsaken school!

TOM: And we're adults.

AMANDA: Yeah... That happens, you know?

TOM: But it's happening to us. We're not going to be able to say, ever again, "When I grow up." We're going to be grown up. It's messed up.

AMANDA: Is that what's bothering you? Growing up?

TOM: A little bit, yeah. Doesn't it bother you? Haven't you noticed that your childhood is gone?

AMANDA: I've noticed, Tom, but I don't let it bother me. [AMANDA takes TOM's hands] Look, you're just going through a phase. You won't always be so aware of your own...

TOM: Insignificance as a person to date?

AMANDA: Suuure. You won't always be so aware of everything you haven't done. Yet.

TOM: Painfully aware.

[Enter ROBERT]

ROBERT: What's up with him?

AMANDA: [half-mockingly] He's painfully aware of his own significance as a person.

ROBERT: That sucks. Oh hey, you want anything while I'm up?

AMANDA: Coffee. De-caf. Cheers.

TOM: [groans]

AMANDA: And an espresso for Tom... He looks like he could do with a lift.

TOM: Kill me now, before I get any older. [pauses] Too late! I can feel my youth slipping away from me.

--------------------

Spontaneous script-writing helps some times. Okay, so admittedly I had the idea all day, but I hadn't planned on putting it down anywhere, especially not in this post! But that's the thing about writing, about being a writer - we're not always in control of everything that happens in our lives. Heck, that's being human!

I got the idea earlier, during one of my bouts of almost forced... I don't know what word I'm thinking of. Depression is going too far, because I wasn't sad, or elated. I just had a feeling of... I don't know. I guess I realised that, like Tom, I'm grown up already. I don't have a "when I grow up" situation any more. I'm going to be a teacher. I suppose this is the aftermath of teaching practice in college. Regardless, I got the idea hours ago, and I wasn't ready for it. Like I'm not ready for most of the ideas I get about The Jump. I haven't written it in months, and yet I'm still getting ideas about it.

But there's another thing about writing. When you sit down to write something - anything - you might just find a tale you remembered, and find that it's ready to be written. Whether you like it or not. Many authors - probably most, if not all - carry around with them a note pad to take... well, notes with. I recommend the same. Write down any ideas you get, but just briefly. No real detail. When you read back on it, you should be able to remember the idea, because it should have been that good.

Now, with a knocking on my wall to signify that I need to get to bed/my typing is too loud, I must leave. Remember - there's a time and a place for writing, and typing away at 11:15pm in the room, at the wall, adjascent to two people - my parents in this case - trying to sleep, is not the right time or place. Now, if I had set up downstairs... This might be the plan for tomorrow if I plan on writing at this hour. Toodles for now, though.

PS Let me know what you think of the wee script.