You can’t do the kind of column I usually do (seven or eight stories daily, if not more) and see three films daily plus attend a social function at day’s end and get five or six hours in the sack — it just doesn’t work. One or the other has to suffer. And these eighteen-hour days wear you down after four or five days. Not so much physically as emotionally, psychologically.
It’s right around this time during Sundance — middle of the fifth day, three nights and two days to go — that the sum total of all the films you’ve missed and are likely to miss come crashing down upon you. And you begin to feel almost paralyzed. And if that isn’t enough to make you want to reach for medication, there’s also knowing that you’re not posting enough. (I’ve experienced or have been told about several intriguing things since last Thursday morning, and written about none of them.) On top of which is the presumption that HE’s Sundance readership tends to be a bit less because people don’t kow the movies, don’t relate, etc.
I’ll snap out of my funk before long. The process has already begun by writing this item.