check out
the old stuff

monday, october 20, 1997, 03:26

I keep saying that i have to reorganize these pages. And i keep telling myself that i will. Some day. It just hasn't happened yet. Of course i was going to clean my room up this weekend, and that didn't happen.

More show stuff, more doing gimp work for the board. I don't know. Sometimes I just feel like people don't take my position on the board seriously. Don't know whether I'm being over sensitive or what, but it seems that most of the time my suggestions are discounted, then restated by someone else and taken into consideration.

Whatever.

Funny sight of the day. Was walking to the theatre when I see, on the corner, two old ladies going to trim a tree on the sidewalk. err, not trim. Prune. They were pruning the tree. They were both about 4 foot six, frail little things. One of them grabbed the branch, the other took a hand saw and started at the little branch. I was just afraid that the one with the saw was going to hack off the others' arms.

Just had a dream just now. About the board. And Lenin. And he didn't like what the board was doing. Actually, he didn't like much theatre. And I think he was willing to kill us if we would stop doing theatre. So I woke up instead.

Time to sleep again.

Righto, there was something. Ah yes. I've been finding the need to write more these days because there are a lot of people here that i just can't talk to. Or rather nobody here that i can talk to. So i write it here, and I'm talking to nobody. Or rather, I'm talking to everybody. But I really don't feel that there is anyone around who wants to hear my problems, nor do i feel that there's anyone that i want to burden with them.

So I write it here, so I can get things off my mind so I can move on with my life.

Or so I would hope.

tuesay, october 21, 1997, 03:32

Went ice skating today. Yes indeed. And it was fun. And I actually got some exercise. And i was relaxed (well, most of me was relaxed. my ankles were far from relaxed). And things were good. Happy? Not yet. But I'm working on it.

Doing more and more theatre stuff these days, and less and less actual theatrical stuff. Meetings last night. Tonight, typing up acceptance and rejection letters to people who submitted monologues. Key diagrams of our building. Have to call the plubmer.

Do i like it? Do i like what i'm doing? I really can't tell. I don't know. It keeps me busy. I feel that if i wasn't doing it, then nobody else would. Or, more importantly, if i wasn't doing it, nobody else would be doing it correctly.

But am i happy?

And I keep asking myself that, and i keep coming up short.

There is a certain sense of satisfaction knowing that the work i do does help keep the theatre running. And there must be some other reasons why i do it. But i can't say for sure that it makes me happy. Nothing makes me happy these days.

That's not true. Things make me happy, but I don't think i'm happy.

Enough depressing thoughts. This is stupid. I've got work to do. I've got reading to do. I've got school to do. I've got life to do.

Fuck happiness. Let me live. Happiness will come when it comes.

thursday, october 23, 1997, 03:00

My mother called me the other day. She saw me at my desk so she knew i was around and decided to call me. And if that wasn't fucked up enough, she ended her conversation with something along the lines of

"don't think so much."

and

"don't think about being happy."

My mother is responding to things that I've written on my homepage. No prompting, no discussion. Just a response. Do I need this? No. I don't think so. I write what I do because that's the way I'm feeling at the time. Damn it. And I'll think if i want to. I'll worry about being happy if i want to.

You know why?

Because there's honestly nothing else to look for these days. I mean, what? Friends? School? Work? Strangers? It all just comes down to being happy. If i could find happiness and bottle it, i would be a millionaire ("if i had a nickel..."). Everyone's looking for it. Nobody's found it.

People pretend, but they don't know what's going on.

Maybe I'm just bitter because i haven't done any typing today and my hands still ache. Maybe it's because i can't talk to girls without feeling like a complete dipshit. Maybe it's because i haven't found "focus," whatever the hell that means. Maybe it's because i'm sick of this place. Maybe it's because i don't want to deal with my midterms. Maybe it's because i don't want to deal with the board. Maybe it's because i want more attention. Maybe it's because i want less attention. Maybe it's because i want to be able to see a sunrise and know that i'm watching it becase i can, not because i was up all damn night working. Maybe it's because i miss my friends. Maybe it's because i don't know who my friends are any more. Maybe it's because i don't know who i am any more. Maybe it's because i'm thinking too much.

Maybe my mother's right.

Or maybe. Just maybe. maybe I'm doing everything right. Maybe that's the problem. Maybe the crack fairy will visit me tonight and make it all better.

Maybe i'll find happiness.

| home | thoughts | simplicity | mail | me |