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

2002-02-07 - 12:09 a.m.

Wherefore to Dover?

i have a cold.

i am butt-tired.

if the preceding were not true, i'd give in to my desire to write this entry in iambic pentameter.

the guy who plays the steward has suggested we turn king lear into a musical, and keeps singing a strikingly upbeat song he calls "wherefore to dover". he's funny.

antihistamines and fatigue are making me incomprehensible.

i wish there were more to say about my life. it proceeds apace. tonight i told someone that if it weren't for money my life would be perfect. that's close to true.

i need to find a job, but i don't want a job. maybe i should renew my search for a sugar momma. unfortunately RockGirl doesn't have enough income to fulfill that role.

in the meantime, i do my laundry, and go to the grocery store, and calculate and recalculate how much money i have. i try to write and allow myself to be distracted. i try to work on my lines and become distracted. i try to work out and become lazy. i try to play music and become discouraged. i play tony hawk on the playstation and waste hours upon hours.

why are the productive things so much harder to accomplish? why can't it be considered the pinnacle of accomplishment to get a high score on a computer game? i bet i could win a nobel prize in computer gaming. (actually the sad thing is i couldn't. there are tons of people out there who are so much better than i at that.)

i keep wanting my entries to be like little chunks out of a good story. instead they are random, uninspiring detritus from my confused mind.

i must go to sleep. i'm not making any sense.

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