Wanted: one man/woman
(aged 17-22)
That is tall, dark-haired, humorous, fair-minded, and strong.
Must enjoy old movies and even older music, dancing for no reason at all, late-night conversations, and cats.
Must be able to tolerate my absurdity, respect my creativity, give me my space, revel in my closeness, and understand my need for both.
Hugs must come often, kisses must be searing and soul-searching, and sex must never come up in conversation.
Remember the names of my uncles, love my grandmother, be friends with my friends.
Cherish our time together, miss me when I'm away, know my quirks.
Love me unconditionally, remind me often, laugh when I blush.
All those interested, please inquire inside.
Thursday, October 18, 2007
Friday, October 12, 2007
And lo it was written that she who angsteth the hardest got the best grade.
Amazing. Absofuckinglutely amazing.
Yesterday, I was the second to last person to read their monologue in my class. That day, my drama teacher had heard 120 monologues from his classes. After I was finished, he declared that mine was the best.
Sweet Christ on a crumpet, how the hell did that happen? It was less of a monologue and more of a hate-filled tirade against my mother, and yet, it was the best. Maybe it helped that I almost had a panic attack while up on stage, giving the appearance that I was about to burst into tears. Perhaps it was because I was one of the only people in my class to read with any concievable emotion in my voice.
Maybe everyone else in the drama program just really suck at monologues. The world may never know.
I think I'll post my rant later, after I get back from my grandmother's house. Not that anyone actually reads this journal.
Yesterday, I was the second to last person to read their monologue in my class. That day, my drama teacher had heard 120 monologues from his classes. After I was finished, he declared that mine was the best.
Sweet Christ on a crumpet, how the hell did that happen? It was less of a monologue and more of a hate-filled tirade against my mother, and yet, it was the best. Maybe it helped that I almost had a panic attack while up on stage, giving the appearance that I was about to burst into tears. Perhaps it was because I was one of the only people in my class to read with any concievable emotion in my voice.
Maybe everyone else in the drama program just really suck at monologues. The world may never know.
I think I'll post my rant later, after I get back from my grandmother's house. Not that anyone actually reads this journal.
Thursday, October 11, 2007
Monologue, hold the onions.
Drama will be the death of me, I swear it.
Last week, we had to write two sentences directed toward someone we either loved unconditionally, or drove us completely insane. I chose my mother. Then we had to write a monologue, using the two sentences as a starter. My monologue is less of a monologue and more of a hate rant about my mother. I had no idea that I had so much inner torment. Okay, maybe I did, but I didn't think it would all come out in a drama project. I'm hungry. I need food. Hell, I need a sandwich and some heavy therapy.
Last week, we had to write two sentences directed toward someone we either loved unconditionally, or drove us completely insane. I chose my mother. Then we had to write a monologue, using the two sentences as a starter. My monologue is less of a monologue and more of a hate rant about my mother. I had no idea that I had so much inner torment. Okay, maybe I did, but I didn't think it would all come out in a drama project. I'm hungry. I need food. Hell, I need a sandwich and some heavy therapy.
Wednesday, October 3, 2007
Boredom is neither a sin nor a virtue.
I am so damned bored.
It's Wednesday. Wednesday is, for me, the most boring day of the week. Two days until the weekend with no excitement in sight. Boring, boring, boring.
At home, I've been writing almost nonstop. It's almost getting to the point where I feel as if I should be writing something meaningful, but instead I keep coming out with pointless, emotionless drek. I've always prided myself on putting the emotions I myself couldn't feel into my writing. This new development worries me. Perhaps I should take a little break from writing.
WHAT IN THE HELL AM I SAYING?!
I might as well take a break from breathing! I know what not writing does to me. It makes me jumpy, nervous, even a bit paranoid. No, I can't stop writing. Maybe I'll take a different angle for once. Quit with the comic characters and work with the old gods and older creatures. Mythology has always held open a, heh, pantheon of possibilities for me. Though, as most writing books will tell you, you should always write what you know. And there's nothing I know better than comics and mythology...
Yes. I'm going to focus on the mythos now. Hold onto your togas, baby, I am back!
Perhaps Wednesday isn't so boring after all.
It's Wednesday. Wednesday is, for me, the most boring day of the week. Two days until the weekend with no excitement in sight. Boring, boring, boring.
At home, I've been writing almost nonstop. It's almost getting to the point where I feel as if I should be writing something meaningful, but instead I keep coming out with pointless, emotionless drek. I've always prided myself on putting the emotions I myself couldn't feel into my writing. This new development worries me. Perhaps I should take a little break from writing.
WHAT IN THE HELL AM I SAYING?!
I might as well take a break from breathing! I know what not writing does to me. It makes me jumpy, nervous, even a bit paranoid. No, I can't stop writing. Maybe I'll take a different angle for once. Quit with the comic characters and work with the old gods and older creatures. Mythology has always held open a, heh, pantheon of possibilities for me. Though, as most writing books will tell you, you should always write what you know. And there's nothing I know better than comics and mythology...
Yes. I'm going to focus on the mythos now. Hold onto your togas, baby, I am back!
Perhaps Wednesday isn't so boring after all.
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