de·ac·ti·vate distractions

Stimulate me.

I love stimulation. I love feeling things.


Ah, there goes my phone again. A new notification. A new conversation.



I love being needed. I love feeling important.

“I’m not really looking to discuss BLADE RUNNER: 2049 with anyone right now, but I’m happy you asked me about it…wait, what? That’s ridiculous, the Joi & K relationship is the most important aspect of that film!”


I think I’m addicted to stimulation.

Aren’t we all?

Yes, but it’s a problem for someone like me. You see, I have a very noisy brain. It’s very chatty inside this noggin. Fortunately I only hear one Voice in there (for now) but fuck does that Voice talk fast. Before it finishes one topic it’s pitching me the next. The fucker is all over the place, I can’t pin him down. I feel like Wile E Coyote chasing the Roadrunner. Every time he leaps from one thought to the next, “BEEP BEEP!” Taunting me with its tongue out like MJ when he switched hands on Magic.

It’s exhausting. I sigh all the time. Sighing relaxes me, it pauses The Voice. A good, deep sigh usually buys me thirty seconds of focus. I can hone in on a single thought and throw myself in the direction of it before The Voice cuts out all the lights and reverts back to shuffle mode. Someone suggested meditation once.

I tried it, didn’t take.

I think the app was called Headspace. There was a calm British voice to walk me through the daily exercise. The Voice was quieter for those few weeks. I should probably take that up again…

I deactivated my Twitter account last week. Too many voices. Too many thoughts. Too noisy.


I loved Twitter, especially when I joined in 2008. Back then #FilmTwitter was really #VimeoTwitter and everyone was sharing tips and planning meet ups and telling jokes. There wasn’t much harassment back then— I don’t think people knew how effective the platform could be for it. I made a few friends on Twitter, at least I think I did. Got some set work on Twitter too.

Twitter was cool.

It’s shit now. Had to cut ties. Couldn’t focus. Too many voices.


I think I like being distracted — I’ve picked up my phone 13 times since sitting down to write this post 30 minutes ago. Being distracted makes me feel good, makes me feel important.

“I’m sorry—can’t focus on that one thing you asked about, this other thing needs my attention.”

I like being busy. Important people are busy. Always busy busy busy. Too busy for you, too busy for that thing you wanted them to do, too busy to go to that birthday dinner you invited them to three weeks ago (on Facebook). If I’m too busy too than that means I’m important and important people are cool, right?


I’m not.

I can’t be. The Voice is too quick, it’s too loud. Head is so noisy.

I think I like being distracted because it makes me think about me less. I think about me all the time. I think about how much I suck. I suck so hard.


If I’m always distracted then I can never think about me long enough to feel embarrassed. I have so much to be embarrassed about. I was probably born embarrassed.

Distraction helps me duck shame. People love to shame others on Twitter.

I used to shame people on Twitter.

I’m embarrassed about that.

Kobe Bryant says it’s better to focus on the tiniest detail of a plan because if you focus on the whole thing at once you get overwhelmed. I hate feeling overwhelmed but sometimes I get so distracted I end up there anyway. Overwhelmed and exhausted with a noisy brain.

Does it ever get quieter up there?



I have so many ideas. My ideas have ideas. I think those may have ideas too.

Ideas blind my conscious mind like flash bang grenades. The thoughts collide and bounce off one another like deranged bumper cars, and I keep trying to cut the power to the rink but they just keep zipping about.

I’m like one of those shaggy dog walkers you see in Madison Square Park being dragged by six dogs, all with their own color designated straps and thoughts about which direction the group should be going towards. I’m always being dragged. I never have control.

I want to have control.

This post sucks. I’m already embarrassed by it and I haven’t even posted it yet. I probably won’t. If I do, I probably had a really good sigh.