Veg bad

I really need to get out more.

Gah. I appear to be developing a sore throat.

Let's discuss some topics in a slightly more positive vein, hmm?

I'll come back to this post when I have something interesting on my mind.

So what was the point of clicking the New Post button in the first place?

Sometimes you just need to talk, and hearing the words bounce off the walls of your room isn't sufficient. Broadcasting in some form or another becomes necessary or else you go stir-crazy. Was it really only yesterday I was at school? I even slept in this morning, and yet the weekend feels as though it has dragged on since Wednesday.

Do you ever have trouble recalling the appearances of people you know well? That is happening to me right now. I remember what they look like, but I can't correctly visualize them for long before the images distort or simplify.

A freewrite would do me some good right now.

The window is open in front. How much attention do passersby pay? Can they hear me talking to myself, and if they looked inside how much would they see? If I knw the answer, would it change how I compose myself in the "privacy" of my own home? At least they cannot take from me the use of mine own house. Ah, here we go: Shakespeare on the brain. I'll be seeing King Lear either next month or at the end of this month with the other Riotous Knights. The old crowd--the Venetians that didn't return this year, that is--has been awfully quiet for the last couple of months. I ought to send them an email. That reminds me that I have a couple of calls to make over the next day or two. But enough about that. Shakespeare is more interesting to think about. So is my style of typing. I never learned how to type properly, but this method seems to work fine. I don't know what my words-per-minute rate is. I don't know what to write. I don't know what to write. Don't get stuck here. Uncertainty leads to grounding. That seems to be the case in most if not all facets of my life, as opposed merely to acting. Ask me a question that I can't immediately answer, and it's likely that I'll freeze. This can be quite embarassing, which only exacerabtes the situation. I don't know what to write. Freewrites remind me of Softy's upcoming class. All the students who took it last year, were Venetians, and have not gone on to college--all four of us, that is--are returning. Song and Knight have also voiced their interest. I spread news of it to Nixon and Vince as well. Might they be interested? I have no idea. Vince might not, as he'll be performing in Fiddler on the Roof around that same time as the class begins.

Whee.