Wednesday, July 13, 2005
the asshole, she is me.
the boyfriend got cast in some showcase. and i was, you know, "happy for him," and he was nice about my half-plastic smile. and i thought we were on the same page, so i let fly with something that was almost certainly a mistake, and now no matter through which filter i play the morning back to myself,
i did bad.
he's so patient and kind, which are good qualities for a lover to have except i am occasionally so tempted to use them for evil. it's like putting a water balloon in my hand.
it's just. man, he just got home. and we were just about to start all this good stuff. that no one wants to do by herself. and now it's going to be all, rehearsal, and tech on my birthday, and inside cast-jokes, and more drinks after the show, and i'll be home watching reruns of the simpsons, sending out five more headshots. and there are . . . responsibilities going on, and promises were made, at least sort of, and, yuck.
if i could relax my clench a little bit, i'm sure we'd both be happier. but then no one would be worried about anything, and we'd end up broke and eating catfood in our seventies.
he got cast in something and i practically gave him a crap sandwich. which is wrong, wrong, wrong. my potential to turn good things into puddles is, like, untold.
in other news, i feel like my secret crush just invited me to the prom.
i did bad.
he's so patient and kind, which are good qualities for a lover to have except i am occasionally so tempted to use them for evil. it's like putting a water balloon in my hand.
it's just. man, he just got home. and we were just about to start all this good stuff. that no one wants to do by herself. and now it's going to be all, rehearsal, and tech on my birthday, and inside cast-jokes, and more drinks after the show, and i'll be home watching reruns of the simpsons, sending out five more headshots. and there are . . . responsibilities going on, and promises were made, at least sort of, and, yuck.
if i could relax my clench a little bit, i'm sure we'd both be happier. but then no one would be worried about anything, and we'd end up broke and eating catfood in our seventies.
he got cast in something and i practically gave him a crap sandwich. which is wrong, wrong, wrong. my potential to turn good things into puddles is, like, untold.
in other news, i feel like my secret crush just invited me to the prom.
