Conversation with selves, and an excercise in writing dialogue:
"Hey monstre, whatcha doing today?"
"Sitting at home in my house, with my feet up, getting paid to write a movie script for the government, while the aryan window guys pound and drill the crooked old over-painted frames and replace them with fresh wood and beautiful new windows."
"monstre, how in the world did you end up there? In your own house, with your feet up, getting paid to push words around on a screen?"
"I studied math and the paths of electrons, studied programming languages and held down jobs with grim clenching of teeth, and envied the whores on St-Laurent street that could at least come in out of the cold."
"monstre, you're telling us fairytales."
"Yes, yes I am. I am telling the fairytale that my 9th grade english teacher told me as he handed back the notes from the first editor he'd ever taken my poetry to. I am telling the fairytale that he reminded me of again when I felt my brain gasping for life in University, my pink hair screaming for air amidst the plain white shirts of the comp sci department."
"But what does this have to do with movie scripts, monstre? Haven't you lived the last five years in fear that the golden handcuff had swallowed your pen completely?"
"I was just thinking that, somehow. Remembering Mr. D's promise that if I kept dreaming, that a degree in sciences would open every single door for me. And it did. It did. I bled it through and my degree gave me an arrogance of the brain and a desperate belief in the Renaissance man, an urgency of speech and a burning quality to my enthusiasm that my peers have never seen before."
"And, and then what monstre?"
"And then I just ran. I ran with the days as they sped past in a blur of emotion, I ran with my head high and words streaming behind me. I raced the bigwigs and hotshots and heads turned to wonder at the alien protuberance that was my body interrupting their quiet reality. And I ended up here. I ended up in love with life and with my Dave, ended up with baby Lumpzilla burping and gurgling every excited turn of phrase. I ended up mouthing off to the white-boy's-club fuckers at work (though more carefully these latter years) and being handed my dreams on a platter because I'm the only one left with a magic finger."
"So what are you saying, monstre?"
"I'm saying I was right. I was always right, and Mr. D. gave me the easy path in that direction."
"What were you so right about monstre?"
"I was right that if you keep dreaming as hard as you fucking can, and fucking BLEED for it -- you win. Remember that, cf? Remember those terrified ICQ conversations under Leon's nose? I was right. I was right. We win."
And with that, the happy hormones are tearing up my brain again and I think I know how to write the dialogue piece for the next chunk of script.