No artist is pleased. There is no satisfaction at anytime.
There is only a queer, divine dissatisfaction,
a blessed unrest keeps us marching and makes us more alive than others.
-- Martha Graham to Agnes De Mille
Was || Will Be || Past Moments || Now || Notes

2003-02-03 - 12:32 p.m.

When all the stars have fallen

When I awoke to the radio, telling me that something was wrong with the shuttle, I felt not sadness, or anger, or really anything but a great weariness. If it were not for the curiosity living inside of me, I would have simply shut it off and gone back to sleep.

Because I am weary of sadness and loss.

I am just plain tired of enduring. And I don't much enjoy being told to persevere. And I really hate hearing about how we will rise above. Of course we will. That's what we do.

But could you let us grieve, or at least rest for a little while?

And I just have to say this, that angry little gnome masquerading as the President needs some new fucking speech writers. He sounds like an automaton at some Evangelical amusement park.

And that's all I want to say about that.


I saw a play on Saturday night that was written by a friend of mine. I was incredibly impressed with the writing. It was freaking funny.

I was cast in this play, but had to pull out because of conflicts. I now wish I'd been in it. It was really good.


The staged reading catastrophe was yesterday. It went far better than I expected it could. That being said, I was still not a happy camper.

I survived it, and I'll survive next Sunday and then it will be over, and that's all I need to know.


The most important audition of my life is tomorrow. And I don't feel ready. But today, I am all about denial. I'll be going over my monologues some more this afternoon, and then trying hard not to think about it.

At all.


Thanks, Jim and PenPal for good thoughts. You rock! I'll get better, I know I will.

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