Something Mare

I have this recurring nightmare, well daymare, or unhappy fantasy. We get done with the show, and this vile British bitch drags me away from my classmates shrilly declaring with glee, "You are the weakest link!"

I'm not doing that badly, but I'm not doing all that great either. I thought I'd made good bit of progress yesterday, and again today. I keep getting the same note. Get your intention to the back row. Shit, fuck, curses of the vilest kind for me. I know I can't push it as that will only make things worse, but I'm still holding in some big way I can't identify. I'm going to go nuts.

Ahhhhh! (That's a despairing scream.) I still love this stuff, even, or especially, when I feel like shit. There is something wrong with me which I am very satisfied with. Theatre people have to be crazy. If we weren't we'd go fucking nuts. Round the bend. Loony toons. I'm happy and down in the mouth. I want a sensuous hug. I want to be cruelly slapped. I...

G'night.