The Po-go Stick

Emily here. Monday was our first day back with our editor Maya and I woke up wide awake, like it was the first day of school. With Maya comes her unrelenting confidence in the film and a dare-devil willingness to shoot for the moon- I don’t want to think about how many boba teas she’s drinking.

Mary and I are in constant cahoots. On phone-calls, I can hear her beautiful kids pip-squeaking in the background. I remember when I was little, watching my parents work, thinking what on earth could be so important???

It is go-time. There is a 5000 page document stacked up next to my bed: six large binders, twelve different colors of post-it notes that mean fifteen different things. No wonder I am having trouble sleeping. We are are working like hell to get to a second cut over the next six weeks.

This part of making a documentary brings such a strange one-sided intimacy. The characters and the footage are so present inside my head that when their names pop up on my phone or email, I stare at them in disbelief. “I was just thinking of you!” I could say but what an understatement. I feel like a school girl talking to the boy whose name I have written a thousand times in my notebook, except in my case it’s my own mother or uncle that I am talking to. Strange times.

After conversations like that, I go outside and po-go stick.

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