The Bad News Wrapped Up In The Good News

Get Mad At Dem Damn Eggs!

Hmm. Every job I have sooner or later puts me in mind of Cool Hand Luke. Well. The good news is I'm drinking a lot of water. 20 to 25 large plastic cups of it a day. The twist of the knife is that I'm only drinking that much water because I know I have a bladder the size of an English pea. More water, more trips to the bathroom, more trips to the bathroom more avoidance of whatever Sisyphus-type task has been assigned to me to keep me busy. Move boxes to Point A. Oh, wait, move them back to Point B. No, put them at Point A in numerical sequence. Hold the phone - we need that stuff back at Point B again. The most control I have over anything at work is whether or not to wash my hands when I leave I bathroom. I try to surprise myself with that one, let it be a mystery: Will he or won't he? I need to be shut of this place soon. I wish today was my last day. Please let Rollins or The Library or both call me sooner rather than later. In my mind - I can make it through to next Friday, get my check, bills okay for January, and quit. Working next week would give me another, smaller check two weeks down the line. I just need one of these places to come through. I honestly don't think I can be there past next week. I don't.

Nipsy Russell Do The Hustle

Let me jump subject to tell you another of my strange OCD games. Those plastic cups I mentioned...I can never take the one off the top of the stack. I always have to pick one that's three or four down. I've convinced myself that the top cup of any stack of styrofoam or plastic cups is always laced with poison. Poison meant for me. Luckily for me, whoever is leaving it behind hasn't caught on to my trick and put the poison on the third or four cup...but give them time, they're only now learning my habits and moods and routines. On the flip side, once I have selected my cup and start in on my many glasses of water, the game changes into one we'll call: Hemlock or Laudanum. In this newly minted compulsion I pretend that the water I'm drinking is really one of the two aformentioned liquids. Poison or opiate, what's it to be? If only the secret organization trying to poison my cups knew that over half the time I poison myself later on, maybe they'd give up, find someone else to poison. I am taking some of the sport out of it, I suppose. Maybe in this scenario, I work for them. Over the teeth and past the gums, look out stomach here it comes. The laudanum is more or less a device to try and trick myself into calming down when I'm upset at work...ahhh...isn't...this...'water'...so...soothing...bliss...on...tap. Depending on what's going on it works just as well as saying, 'this to shall pass'.

What A Guy What A Guy

Just opened a letter a got from Mom and Dad. It has a bunch of the pictures they took of the cast after they saw The 1940s Radio Hour. It was a little weird standing out by the mailbox, opening the letter (in the back of my mind expecting some form of bill - that's about the only mail I get from Mom) and suddenly seeing Wally Fergusson staring up at me. Wally, standing with Connie, and my Dad and my nephew Michael, out in front of the theatre. Then another of Michael standing in front of that huge Christmas Tree. Then several grainy ones of the whole cast standing on stage. It's a fact: Everything that happens to me ends up feeling a million miles away. All of it, the good, the bad, the indifferent. My memory is such that even my greatest triumphs, worst failures, biggest humiliations, my few come from behind victories --- A lot of them seem as grainy to me as some of those photographs. Man, when things are sweet - taste the hell out of them - when things blow up in your face - ride it out. Lady or the tiger, either way. Damn, I mean, that was only a month ago - and I already feel like that guy is a different guy. Am I just in a mood. I don't think I'm in a mood. Fuck, I'm probably the worst judge of whether I'm in a mood or not. I feel a little odd. But I also feel 100% more alive than I feel all day at work - so that makes me feel good. I'm just prone to melancholy, I guess. Dwell. Overthink. Wound. Nurse. Plot. Sigh.


Piffle & Hog Wash.

The fact is you(me) are not without hope or prospects or friends or family or what have you. There are a thousand tiny, easy things that make you smile, that make you see the joy behind things. Focus on that, not the fucking soul eating job you're going to quit soon or the love affair you have with wrapping yourself in your own created despair. You control a lot more than you think. So play the Janet Jackson song on a motherfucking loop. This pawn moves on. This pawn moves on.

Tonight (...and tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow...)

...is Marcie and Kevin coming over to watch LOST (to catch up on some of the back episode I have saved on my Freevo)
...me cleaning up the house a bit
...Sarah and Jeff going to go see Phantom Of The Opera
...me relaxing cause tomorrow is Friday
...I might not have Into The Woods rehearsal until Saturday
...dropping off more applications, picking more applications up...

Playfest this weekend. Amber coming down Sunday. Next week (hell or high fucking water) my last week at Lowndes. Pay week. Bills. Groceries. Sarah in Nothing Happened. Todd and Tyler in Go Left Right. Into The Woods picking up speed, getting to talk to Anne about Milky White, Rollins AND The Library both calling me in to interview (bring on a fucking interview - right now I feel like I have interview-charm for days - maybe not the regular type of charm but an interview right now would be so fucking sweet).

There are a thousand little reasons to not be a miserable bastard. Being a miserable bastard means that those swine, those whoresons, those mongoloid idiots that you work with have rubbed your will down to a nub. Laugh or Cry.

I don't care that my eyebrows are thick - as long as there are two of them.

You may be a sad sack at times - but you are not joyless.

Jeezum Crow, what a weird fucking post.