Ch'io beva del tossico!
Good old Marcello. I feel like I should just drink poison. I've been getting sick so often I might as well just down some of that stuff, and see how sicker I can become. I'm quite perturbed. Is my body trying to kill me and fail me and get my parents angry at me? Grrr. I might start writing entries because all the people on my friends list write
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I liked your rant, and I sympathize with your anguish.
-Also-
There was something about dying like Socrates in Boheme, wasn't there? Something about hemlock? I remember going "Yes!!"
& you have a debilitating illness that makes it difficult for you to breathe. You're a true Romantic, 19th century sexy.
& your street clothes were more elaborate than your costume, if that's possible.
&... O, the waves of unbridled emotion! Anger and strife and love! *slow, dramatic, gasping death*
So even more than ever, Rent/Boheme is the story of your life.
Someday I'll have to come and see the end.
No worries, though. Even though the opera was great (I disagree with the claim that it had no discernable plot), I kind of prefer spending my time eating ketchup ice cream at McDonald's with you to sitting in the dark at the opera house a few rows in front of "that old lady... is FUZZY!", behind a seat dedicated to someone with an unfortunate name that sounded like "Harold Stump", waiting for you to return from the confusion of les coulisses.
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