Fuckertown, MD.
Ugh.
I'm in a horrible place right now.
Yes, this is one of THOSE entries.
I feel washed up and like, even before I've graduated, people are already taking my place.
And no, the objective here is NOT for you to tell me that I am not washed up.
I know I'm not washed up.
But that's how I feel.
I just told Ryan to shut up for talking about how much Nancy Jantsch wants him to be the next big tenor, and I feel horrible. I know I sounded bitter and resentful.
But I feel like I eat a lot of shit and run around on high heels for a lot of different things. I always think that the people that I need to come through will come through, but they so rarely do. So it's a never-ending pile of work that needs to get done by me, somehow.
Maybe it's because my entire body hurts or maybe it's because it's the end of the year. Suddenly the above argument doesn't sound persuasive, but it still vaguely reminds me of how I feel ....
Like I am in some kind of underground tunnell, reminiscent of Chris Basile's found text play, working and working and working and maybe no one will ever come and dig me out.
I'm in a horrible place right now.
Yes, this is one of THOSE entries.
I feel washed up and like, even before I've graduated, people are already taking my place.
And no, the objective here is NOT for you to tell me that I am not washed up.
I know I'm not washed up.
But that's how I feel.
I just told Ryan to shut up for talking about how much Nancy Jantsch wants him to be the next big tenor, and I feel horrible. I know I sounded bitter and resentful.
But I feel like I eat a lot of shit and run around on high heels for a lot of different things. I always think that the people that I need to come through will come through, but they so rarely do. So it's a never-ending pile of work that needs to get done by me, somehow.
Maybe it's because my entire body hurts or maybe it's because it's the end of the year. Suddenly the above argument doesn't sound persuasive, but it still vaguely reminds me of how I feel ....
Like I am in some kind of underground tunnell, reminiscent of Chris Basile's found text play, working and working and working and maybe no one will ever come and dig me out.