(no subject)
arts schools are bitches.
there is a reason we don't do a senior thesis, and thank goodness for that, because I'd lose my mind. instead, the year has been committed to the preparation of a senior departmental project and the peggy cooper something-whatshername award for playwriting ... one thousand dollars and a staged reading of your play. so I got it into my thick head to write a full-length play -- unlike my only other real competator, my good friend molly mca. -- and then mount parts of that for my senior project. I've had this in my mind for months. and no matter how fucked mr. johnson's sense of "time" may be, I've been working on this for a while.
so how does it come down to twenty-three days till curtain and counting, and I can't get through the goddamn second act?
not to mention that high school is infinitely frustrating, as is that deep desire of knowing you want something and not being able to voice it, because you're certain that no matter how you say it you'll sound like a total jackass. that kind of stuff makes you want to become some kind of recluse and spend the days shouting, "leave me alone, bitches!"
or maybe I've just lost my mind.
funny enough, I remember this summer and earlier this year when I was writing these things -- writing about beautiful images and happy moments and dreams and wishes, and now it seems like all I can do is sit and complain and exhaust my use of the word "bitch."
when is graduation?
I need something happy. or something beautiful. or good.
there is a reason we don't do a senior thesis, and thank goodness for that, because I'd lose my mind. instead, the year has been committed to the preparation of a senior departmental project and the peggy cooper something-whatshername award for playwriting ... one thousand dollars and a staged reading of your play. so I got it into my thick head to write a full-length play -- unlike my only other real competator, my good friend molly mca. -- and then mount parts of that for my senior project. I've had this in my mind for months. and no matter how fucked mr. johnson's sense of "time" may be, I've been working on this for a while.
so how does it come down to twenty-three days till curtain and counting, and I can't get through the goddamn second act?
not to mention that high school is infinitely frustrating, as is that deep desire of knowing you want something and not being able to voice it, because you're certain that no matter how you say it you'll sound like a total jackass. that kind of stuff makes you want to become some kind of recluse and spend the days shouting, "leave me alone, bitches!"
or maybe I've just lost my mind.
funny enough, I remember this summer and earlier this year when I was writing these things -- writing about beautiful images and happy moments and dreams and wishes, and now it seems like all I can do is sit and complain and exhaust my use of the word "bitch."
when is graduation?
I need something happy. or something beautiful. or good.