Hey, it's 10/30, and 10:30. Freaky.

See, right now I'm so numb that I actually think that's interesting. Um, yeah. Stress to the fourth all of today and yesterday. It's been school, work work work at school, play practice (which is way more demanding than it seems), and home.

With less than 3 hours to myself (much of which tonight was spent sleeping) I have been completing 0 of my homework. This is bad. It ensures a lot of mom screech-age. But as long as my grades are.. erm.. semi-decent.. I think I'll be fine.

I'm so glad I don't have a job, because if I did, I'd probably go insane. Don't see how kids these days can pull all that responsibility off. I fix my own dinner. That's about as responsible as it gets for Megg-o.

I had to eat something really gnarly today. While practicing a table scene in the play, we were actually supposed to eat. ("But Mrs. James, it tastes awful!" "That's not MY problem! EAT! *cacklecacklecackle*") Problem with this was the food - a yellow sort of freezing cold mashed potato goo, courtesy of Christine Powers. Yeech. Parts of my insides were moving that I didn't even know I had.

Anyway, yadda yadda yadda.. I know I shouldn't complain. But with no one to complain to a girl can get restless.

Well, on the goofier side of things, I wrote something last night. Another drunken attempt at poetry. I'll probably just regret putting it on here later, but right now it seems like a good idea to me, so I'll run with that.

Infinity

Fade in

To an empty set

Only two up on the stage

One whose air blows straight through

One whose smile lights up the room

With every step closer

One more falls back

Behind to that place inside

You're not supposed to talk about

Less than an hour

And you've blown past me already

Messy streaks of disappointment

Strewn about this tired out canvas

Make it quite clear

That things aren't any different

They cease to change

As forever progresses

Dream at night that you'd hold my hand

And we're more than just two people

We're shooting stars

Floating towards infinity

And I can't remember when I last

Touched your arm

Smelled your shirt

Does it even really matter that I think

You're really something special

Something grand

I close my eyes

See your face

No stupid remarks or

Blind cliches

Just floating towards infinity

On your gravitational pull

That draws me

Closer to being further away.

So never write under direct influence of Michael Stipe, is the lesson I've learned from that. It's about a pretty obvious dilemma I'm having.. if you've talked to me within the past month you probably can guess what. Anyway. I think I'm going to go. =meg=

Neat-o song: "Cigarette" - Ben Folds Five

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