Thursday, September 23, 2004

Here I sit, broken hearted...

(Sometimes I can't help it. Inside, I'm an eight year-old!)

Vicky has informed me to wait until "faux" diamonds are the highest of high fashion... and then she still wouldn't go for it. And considering that at that point supply & demand might end up making the real thing cheaper, it just goes to show how much she cares!

... or something...

No movement on the play. I have decided to stop fighting it. I will write it. I'll probably start on Monday. For now, at least, I still can't break into it - there seems to be a two-inch thick layer of mental jell-o dividing me from it. It's just... over... there. I can't get to it just yet. Not to fear, though. I've been here before and I know it's simply chronological.

You see, over here, I see the play in pieces of time - snips of dialogue. Over there, it hasn't started... yet. It just needs to catch up with me.

It's going to be different from my previous work. Aren't they all? In this case, it won't be a romantic comedy - yet it will still deal with relationships. No one will discuss things like their jobs or their homes - when you're committing suicide those things are too far removed and basic feelings become more immediate. This play will be more dynamic than my past work - almost like a musical in that it will be broken into "songs" of a type. But most importantly, this will probably be the most... what? From the guts - "fuck you" - take no prisoners - - - angry, yes, that's it. It will probably be the most angry of all my work.

Which immediately makes me wonder, "What do I have to be so angry about?"

I don't know... but it's nice to see a familiar face.

I hadn't realized - until this moment - how much I've needed to reconnect to that side of myself. Maybe that's why I've been feeling so dead lately... I don't know.

But I think I'll bum a cigarette and think about it.

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