A little black spot...
Okay, it’s just now 9am and already I can feel a little piece of my soul dying.
It’s one of those kind of days in the zombie office world. I am starting to fear that as MOTK permeates my heart, the life expectancy of my office job will be in jeopardy.
I am in one of those faux creative positions. And basically they pay me rather nicely and give me a lot of freedom with what I do. But sometimes, I just wonder why we don’t live in one of those countries where the greatest honor is for your child to become an actor, where $70 per person in taxes goes to fund arts initiatives, where people can really express themselves without fear of a bunch of right-wing Bible thumpers will protest your work or, when all else fails, somehow justify calling you a “baby killer” (it’s such a great catch-all isn’t it?).
I’m tired. I dreamed all last night. Actually, I had one of those “snooze” dreams right around 6:30 where I had somehow convinced spprs to come and pass out nametags at a meeting I have today.
What is really sad about that: that’s borderline erotic in my world right now. Any man that would take any small portion of my responsibility here at work makes me cream.
Last night’s rehearsal went well. Of course I’m frustrated, because I want to play so bad, but I have to keep it all in perspective and realize that everyone is in a pretty good place for where we are, where we need to be and the purpose of the reading.
I am however bringing Turkish coffee and chocolate covered espresso beans to next weeks show. If anybody falls asleep before 3am, I will consider my mission a failure.
Alright, off to my meeting… any strapping young man want to pass out nametags for me… I’d damn near do anything you want….
It’s one of those kind of days in the zombie office world. I am starting to fear that as MOTK permeates my heart, the life expectancy of my office job will be in jeopardy.
I am in one of those faux creative positions. And basically they pay me rather nicely and give me a lot of freedom with what I do. But sometimes, I just wonder why we don’t live in one of those countries where the greatest honor is for your child to become an actor, where $70 per person in taxes goes to fund arts initiatives, where people can really express themselves without fear of a bunch of right-wing Bible thumpers will protest your work or, when all else fails, somehow justify calling you a “baby killer” (it’s such a great catch-all isn’t it?).
I’m tired. I dreamed all last night. Actually, I had one of those “snooze” dreams right around 6:30 where I had somehow convinced spprs to come and pass out nametags at a meeting I have today.
What is really sad about that: that’s borderline erotic in my world right now. Any man that would take any small portion of my responsibility here at work makes me cream.
Last night’s rehearsal went well. Of course I’m frustrated, because I want to play so bad, but I have to keep it all in perspective and realize that everyone is in a pretty good place for where we are, where we need to be and the purpose of the reading.
I am however bringing Turkish coffee and chocolate covered espresso beans to next weeks show. If anybody falls asleep before 3am, I will consider my mission a failure.
Alright, off to my meeting… any strapping young man want to pass out nametags for me… I’d damn near do anything you want….