I am so scattered right now, but i’m trying to reel some of it in through writing it down, so bare with me.

Today when i finally opened my eyes my sloping ceiling was hanging right above me and everything was so fuzzy that it seemed like endless white feathers strung to make a giant boa suspended as a giant web — I was trapped like a fly in fuzz.

Two little girls just ran through the quiet lounge reading from tiny business cards that were really invitations, and they decided that they couldn’t attend because the date was this past Thursday. They looked like they could’ve only been five or six but they read out loud like nine or ten year olds would, so my perspective is wholly confused. We just had an informal reading of our newly picked Winter play, and i am torn between wanting to play the angsty 15-year-old who curses and whines in every line, or the Steve Buscemi-like spinster who’s into conspiracy theories and masturbation. Last of the Formicans reads like Cocoon siphoned through one of the zany episodes of X-Files and plunked down into an adjacent suburb of Roseanne. The funny thing is, i don’t know which of the two characters i want to be, let alone who i identify with. The 15-year-old hates everyone and everything he’s been shoved into but hasn’t got any reason for it, but the older man has constructed his own web of feathery explanation that greets him every morning when he wakes up.

Of course, i burned a ton of theatrical bridges this term, but throughout it all i maintained that i’m in it not for the acting but for the characters. I’ve never wanted to be in a play… usually i just sortof blunder into a fun role. This time, i think i’ll be crushed if i don’t get what i want, and i don’t know if i can do anything about it…