I am such a damned goofball on set. It's a function of that fact that I feel so terribly alive when I'm there...that sense inside that's almost an ache, it's so intense, of doing something you really enjoy in which you are a vital operating element. And hanging out with the boys all day just makes me feel pleasantly enfolded by happy familiarity, spiked with the holy terror of unavoidable production mishaps...just for flavour. ;)
In fact, I went to the Tutankamun exhibit on Sunday and spent the four hours I burned on the exhibit thinking about being alive. Through either a lack of faith, the inadhesive nature of my Catholic upbringing, or the simple facts communicated clearly by the world around me, the existence of an afterlife seems - well - unlikely. In all the pomp, glitter, and circumstance of the lovely, lovely pieces in the exhibit, I was struck by sadness. It seems like a massive and complicated tease, a life spent in preparation for life's end. Pettiness on a grand scale.
I could possibly subscribe to physics-derived philosophy - that evergy can neither be created nor destroyed, just shuffled around. Since the soul must be energy, its eventual release and resubsuming into the world could be technically called reincarnation...but I'd rather just live, thanks, and leave these brooding musings to weepier folk.
After all, my mood is bright today - my step jaunty, and the corners of my mouth canted determinedly upward. For there will be ice cream and mojitos tonight, and my lady Los Angeles is tilting up her chin for a kiss.