At least i'm in agony over Theatre theory, not Math.

Looking at Tumblr posts made me realize how much more powerful words seem to be when you type them down, rather than when you say them out.

Which is odd.

Saying has more components, and therefore more means of conveying a message.
Add it with the visual cues of the moment, the depth of his eyes, the shivering lips, the colour he takes that no one could ever figure out.

Formula of an emotional scene.

And yet words, words - pretty words.
Maybe it's time. Time must pass for a word, but not a sound.
Wait, no. I swear i heard the exact opposite elsewhere.

I suppose time passes differently.
The fact that sound needs time limits the time allocated to it.
Whereas words; words are instant, but forever.

Hello, old friend, here we are.
You and me, on the last page.

This is oddly reminiscent of the time I pulled out my clothes from the machine and all my lights were pink again.

Never learn.

four days.

Oh.
Well fuck that.

I was really fucking upset the night before yesterday night.
And yesterday night.
While drinking in silence with Nic and so much fucking more afterwards.
And the only reason i'm writing it here is because,
well, where else?

who else.

but funny enough i felt better during and after film.
which was odd. very odd.
but pleasant and welcome.

maybe it was all the gore.
maybe.

I'm not in the mood for emotion.

I mean, I wasn't yesterday and neither am I today. Too much work to finish.
So much for the 2-0-1-1-5 shit per week that they perpetrated. It's more like 2-0-1-1-1500.

I'm not joining mini-productions on Saturday. I'm sure it will be fun but -
No, actually it won't. I've had some experience working with people who'd rather not be shot and it.is.exhaauuusssting. Perhaps it would be better. But. Well.
I've been in theatre for a long time. And although i'm not the best actress i'm quite critical about it. So it's as much them as it is me.

Besides, it would be impossible to form any semblance of a group at this point. The only non-seniors I've had more than brief perfunctory conversations with are Zac and Rachel, and Zac already has a group. Rachel deciding to go overseas basically ruined my mini-production Saturday career. Rachel's such a bitch. Hope your face gets eaten in New York.

Kidding.

If they allowed me to form a group all on my own I would be more than happy to shoot things. Three minutes isn't very long. I did one and a half in five hours but with a lot of repetitive takes that could've been cut off. Or I could do one with Ryan Nic.

So anyway.

It was a bit anti-climatic that the point in which i found myself emotionally prepared to watch Doctor Who was when i was so emotionally exhausted that i had no emotions at all. I imagined that I would've been wearing my technicolor dalek shirt and that I would've managed to procure one of those dalek plushies or hats and a sonic screwdriver and that I would've been bouncing jerkily on my seat in front of a large tv screen the likes of that in the level 13 lounge, surrounded by flocks of Gaja people whom, with my alieny mind-control skills, I've managed to convert into dedicated Whovians. It would've taken me fifteen minutes of hyperventilating to double click the file, and then promptly burst into mad flaily wailing the moment it begins.

But no. The pressing was impulsive and without hesitation. There was no flailing and wailing. Instead i was in my gray, dark, orange-lamp-lit room with the worst cup of English Breakfast I've ever had. Significantly less dramatic but more comforting. I guess I always knew this had always been how it was gonna be. Except for the bad tea. I couldn't have predicted that.

So yes, I've watched Asylum of the Daleks. And cried, which was cathartic and comforting. The point where Arthur's chin face shivers before he draws back and answers, "We've always known that I love you more than you love me." or something to that effect. I don't dare watch it again. I have cried sufficiently for this week.

I have abandoned you.
In favor of passive regurgitation.