Because I had to have that second Diet Coke

You shall now be subjected to...randominity! To the strains of select tracks from Spy Kids 2: Island of Dreams. With very groggy eyes that seem to bend and sag as though Lillyputians had hooked the lower lid and pulled upon the string. In my new roseate sweater/jacket that keeps me warm, much like my scawf. Whilst my room in shambles remains. And the hours draw on apace. (Twelve happy days bring in another moon, but oh how slow this old moon wanes! She lingers my desires like to a stepdame or a dowager, long whithering out a young man's revenue.)

One is concerned for tomorrow's rehearsal wherein we will learn exactly WHO has learned his lines. Always a painful rehearsal.

One is looking towards the return to poetry in journals, one hopes.

One will discover whether she can handle having (ostensibly) a night off tomorrow after rehearsal.

One is now beyond excited to direct (possibly) Murder in the Cathedral - oh, let it BE!

AIM is an interesting thing....

The Grand Duke doesn't sound all that horrible. And I need to listen to Mikado again.

It is good to be alone. It is good to have a semblance of silence and quietude in which one can simply re-collect. It is good to be without the need to do (although one may do, but the lack of NEED is...er...necessary?).

I may be able to face tomorrow after all. Although almost certainly the test WILL be moved.

The time has come, the walrus said....

I am simply a westerner. No two ways about it. My heart is in the west. I appreciate the beauties of the east, but therein does not lie *my* home. However, after reading K's journal, I can't help but feel that I have allowed myself recently to fall into the shallower means of expressing western culture (or rather, I have slipped into what it has become). Which is to say:

I need to revive my writing skills.

Mood: Regard below.
Music: Regard above.
And I had less thought: Than I had supposed.