Straight No Chaser

Bam-Ba-Lam

whine.

whiiiiiiiiiiiiine.

don't even really have anything substantive to say. just, whine.

whine and sigh. strange wants a one-act play for tomorrow afternoon. other professors want other things, too, some even earlier than that, but this is where i'm placing my focus, because with her, even failure is satisfying. i need to get started on this annotated bibliography, need to start researching community involvement in the public school system back home, need to start drawing up notes for my nineteenth century literature (death death hellfire death) essay; i'm doing this instead, because i know the play is going to suck, and somehow that's comforting.

meanwhile feeling ridiculously jealous toward the throng of budding novelists, who get to invest themselves in characters they actually care about. i hate this play, i hate raye and i hate annabel, i hate that i've temporarily sworn off babies as staple conventions. i have one double-spaced page of melodramatic filth; i take no pride in it and if i had the means, i'd light it on fire right now. then use the flame to spark some black betty.

a couple of things have gotten out of control.