February 12, 1992
No wonder I have this nagging sense of meaninglessness: I’m not writing. I’ve been noodling around with this ghost story, but it’s not enough. I was built to work every day, not just now and then.
Stopped by NYU to visit Thierry. I don’t know what I’d been expecting, but it didn’t happen. He didn’t light up and say “What the fuck are you doing, what happened to you after Cannes? You wrote a feature, you got an agent, good for you, I always knew you had it in you!” Instead, we just chatted cordially for a few minutes and I left wondering what I’d been hoping from the encounter.
Maureen said kindly: “You have that look like you’ve come back to visit your old high school, hoping to recapture the feelings you had there.” She was right, of course. How pathetic. You can’t go back.
Mark Netter invited me to come visit him in the Alps. He’s in Albertville doing sound for CBS. He’s considering moving to L.A. Maybe we should get a place together. It’d be good to have a roommate, especially a film-happy one.
