I hate the fucking play. Whee, I'm pretty. Pretty and bored.
Tit/Hip is the second smallest role in the play (with the double/triple roles we're doing). You wouldn't think it, but there it is.
At least I "sleep very prettily."
We didn't have our Obe/The today, so my roles were played to air. I'm wishing I'd not gone. They didn't need me.
Michele moved out today. Wishing I could have helped her instead.
As it is, I just came home to an empty house, after crying outside the theatre for half an hour.
There's no closure. I feel so very alone.
And my hormones are all wonky for some unknown reason. I'm sure that has a lot to do with it.
I'm bleeding, when I really shouldn't be. I'm hoping the pap comes up negative.
It's not a year in my life without a cancer scare, though G-d only knows why.
I should call Paul, but I'm not in much mood for cheeringuppingness, bringing him down, or putting on a false face.
I'm in the mood to run away.
Damn, but I crave a smoke.
I won't though. I won't.
It's why I said crave instead of want. I don't want one.
I don't know what I'll do.
Knowing me, probably suck it up, phone Paul, allow myself to get cheered back up, and then head over to M's new place to help.
Because I'm not really alone, even though I sometimes like to wallow in the belief that I am.
Maybe breaking something will help, too.