So this is a quick update lateish at night because I might just disappear until like Sunday, and I feel bad cuz I hate missing ya'lls journals, but I'm just gonna throw down my list of my weekend and then go to sleep.
Today I had school and then rehearsal and then work and now I'm super-tired.
is a really fantastic book.
I ought to say more but it's been a pretty uneventful day. I spent the entire afternoon reading the book and now the world seems like it's from a different perspective. Tacky, but true.
EDIT// Current brain-stuck-on fact: I have to wait like... 8 more days to get laid. Which doesn't seem like a long time but right now it seems like a looooooooong time.
hm... what to do, what to do....
okay, it's been fun. I'm off to wank.
Gaaaah. Stupid venue can't get stupid piano on the stupid stage for my stupid play. Fuckpants. But CB has a keyboard to bring in, soooo it should be okay. Assuming we manage to reblock the scene where Pigpen slams Beethoven's hands under the piano lid. I guess hand-stomping will have to be equally effective.
Good things in my life:
I read Katie (my translady friend) my new(ish) gender poem that has her in it and she loved it.
Money for Dog Sees God is rollin' in.
Text-sexytimes with my girlfriend (is that sketchy? She lives like 2 thousand miles away! what else am i supposed to do??)
Two days off of rehearsal and work tomorrow and thursday.
Said hi to transguy from the school upstairs in the halls today, just like we said we would. Connections, man.
I didn't have school today so we rehearsed for 6 hours. It was... hellish. Frustrating and exhausting. But I feel like we made a lot of progress, and it is crunch time, so I'm going to be say I'm satisfied with it.
I worry, when I direct, that I turn into a super-bitch. I have no problem getting behind CB (these are character names) when he's supposed to be yelling at Sally and pushing him closer to her, no problem grabbing Sally by the arm and moving her hands to push Matt the way I want. I shout and lecture and get frustrated.
My play is in two weeks exactly. Which means I cannot talk about anything else. Or think about anything else. Ever. At all. It's becoming problematic.
My to-do list in life:
Get money together. That means contacting everybody I know, all the queer listserves in the area, everyone I know with a good network in the artsy/queer/theater/activist communities. That means endless emails an phone calls in my business professional voice, learning to say "make the check out to me" without feeling weird, and googling tax deduction receipts.
I doubleposted when i was overcaffinated, so I'll fill it with new information. about gender. of course.
Adam called me two-spirited at poetry today and i like that. i like the idea of not being only a girl or a guy or inbetween, but having two spirits and a body that floats between them. To know Hilde and know Charles and love and become them both. There are feminine guys, masculine girls, inbetweeners of all kinds, but I am not one of them. I am all of them. Two-spirited. Is that selfish of me? =P
It's been busy. Do I start every entry with that? Whatever, it's still true.
I'm working my ass off to get money together for Dog Sees God. Emails, phone calls, asking my cast to do the same, get people to pledge. Plotting for sales at the door (WHAT SHOULD WE SELL???) and tacky gimmicks. We'll see.
So that's what I spent my afternoon working on, between Literary Magazine and poetry (about to go to poetry. Doing my new gender poem... scarryyyyyy) and homework (biology and calc mostly. gonna fail calc so hardddd. gah!) and can you tell I'm supercaffinated?
Late night post.
The tension in my house is abnormally high right now. I suppose deciding to let slide my internal gender monologue, the fact that I am paying for Emily's upcoming hypothetical plane ticket here, the reason that I'm paying, all in one day, sort of took everybody's explosion points over the top.
So, after the whole cheating thing, Emily has said (amazingly) that "everything will almost definitely be okay." She says she needs time but she'll forgive me. She says she still wants to come for the play.
Amazing. So amazing.
Okay, short story cuz I don't even wanna fucking talk about this.
I fucked up.
Seriously fucked up.
So last night after rehearsal a bunch of people stayed over to hang out and smoke and watch Easy A.
Aaaaaaaaand I cheated on my girlfriend.
I cheated on my girlfriend sober.
I started it, I didn't stop it, and I can't even use being high as an excuse.
Now I have to own up to her.
And it's going to fucking suck.
yes, yes, I am here. I've just been soooo fucking busy the past two days- work, rehearsal, talking to emily. Why am I always talking to emily? Jeez. I just don't have that kind of time! *yawn*
but today we got a day off school for snow, so i'm watching top chef and considering doing homework and catching up on all these journals. okay, skimming them.
Though I should probably shovel the driveway at some point soon.
Tonight, I was having dinner (scrambled eggs and potatoes and toast and jam and cheese and juice) with my parents, and for some reason we all had time and we're rushing around so we talked about their parents and their siblings and my mom's mom and my mom's aunt and family and how bad decisions trickle through generations.
We were talking about my mom's sister's son, and my mom's other sister's thoughts on said son. And about judgement and decisions and my mom says
"and really, we don't know, none of us have raised boys."
I think I have a pretty serious baking problem. Like, this week alone, I've made: britishy heart-shaped sandwich cookies in two flavours (strawberry and cinnamon), vanilla cupcakes with coconut frosting, chocolate cupcakes with peanut-butter frosting. Granted, they all had a purpose- the cookies were for my Shakespearean Studies midterm (we had a tea party), both sets of cupcakes were for birthdays. (Anyone in my life who has a birthday needs only request, and I will bake them ANYTHING.)
There's a million lights up there
treehouses spinning round the stars
there's snow falling in her hair
and a million lights inside her eyes
she's falling like a comet
burning in my memory
they say a million miles and you won't even
notice you can't see her anymore
so i'm standing in a rainstorm
my hands above my head
asking lighting to come closer
like it could be her arms instead
and i'm racing like a comet
burning in her memory