where is my mind?

brain on temporary hiatus. all mail should be forwarded to brain, space out way, not here.

the power of the subconscious

i woke up this morning with my nails pressed into my palm from a dream about snakebit, a nightmare about actors not arriving, not getting into places when i called them, courtney and eric not answering radio calls, sitting in the booth cut off from everyone wondering what the hell was going on as the song played out that was supposed to end intermission.

i'm holding on

depression and stress and one line of a song stuck in my head and loneliness and losing things are not a good combination. i'm a mess. where did i put that envelope? the last time i remember seeing it was saturday and it's not in my bag anymore. fuck me this sucks.

if you come too close to me, i just might bite. or kiss you. or ask you to hold me for a while, then get claustrophobic in your arms.

never a dull moment

tech disasters spent the night having little babies. argh.

an ampersand among friends

rule one of being a stage manager:
if no one else is doing it, it must be your job. this may include finding props, painting and repairing sets, hanging and focusing lights, recording cues, running lights and sound, doing laundry, communicating with the bureaucratic nitwits who run the theater, burning sound masters, recording voiceovers, etc.

after all

i forget, occasionally, how small my world is.

an exchange

JAMIE: I would naver rape you because you smell like salad dressing.
KIT: Yes, honey, I sound like salad dressing, too.

make a wish

i wished on the blue moon
and the first star.