Speechless

I hate it when this happens. When I desperately want to say something but have no idea what to say. What effect does it have? Do I look like I don't care? Do I look stupid? If I do say something, how will I know it doesn't come off the wrong way, particularly if the remark would have been a lighthearted one? The situation only gets worse when I am around multiple people. I want to join the conversation, but I don't know when or how. Even long-time friends.

Tomorrow at camp we have Bobby Weinapple for two hours. This means the Grueling Dramatic Improv Scenes. Last year I never felt that I rose to his expectations of me, of us in general, so now I'm psyched. I hope he puts me in a scene, and I hope that I can stop thinking of what to say next, know what to say, and push myself to that emotional place that everyone else talks about, where they always come out shaking. Oh, here I go on this again. Not going to start.

I return to my Death valley journal. It's time to revisit Solo.

*****
Solo, Day 1. It begins. I'm in my territory now. No watch, no script (I didn't get the cast list anyway), no food beyond the predetermined rations. That may not matter, however, as I've decided to spend solo fasting. I will make sure to remain hydrated, of course. I have located a good spot for the latrine, but I don't yet know where I'll set up my tarp. Again, that may not matter, as my territory includes a wonderful shade spot at the base of the cliff, which I am enjoying at this very moment. Speaking of enjoying things, I am now going to take advantage of the change of clothes I sneaked in. My stench has again caught up with that to which my nose is accustomed...Oh, SO good! After two weeks of hiking through the wilderness, a new set of underwear makes all the difference in the world. I briefly considered spending solo naked, but there's a strict no-nudity policy on AWE, plus it would massacre my dwindling sunscreen supply. Mail arrived last night. I only got four letters (one from my parents, one from my grandmother, one from the attendance lady at school (it was a form letter), and one from a behind-the-Commons senior in my biology class), but the deadline was the 12th, so I expect I'll have more when we return to base camp. The letter from Annie was a pleasant surprise; I had no idea who might be writing to me outside of my family, seeing as most of my close friends go to different schools. Looking at my wrist, I see that I have a fairly prominent watch tan. I hope tans are the sort of thing that require maintenance; I like being pale. This is the perfect opportunity for some heavy personal reflection, but I'll start that at the top of the next page, which is two lines away. I'll also take a few minutes' break before I start to get my mind out o its current stream-of-consciousness mode. Signing off...Something I mentioned to N the other night was that I seem to be more able to open up to people when placed with them for extended periods of time. It happened with the Venetians, and it's happening with the Cougars (thought not nearly to the same extent, probably due to a mix of the shorter total time frame and that I already know these people). I am not sure whether this is just a result of my becoming more comfortable with the people or something that I automatically do as a matter of necessity to avoid going isolation-crazy. Under normal circumstances I do not open up to people quickly or easily, although I feel that has changed somewhat since last summer. I think I became more closed-up in personality late in middle school. Up through elementary school I was regarded as a pretty cool guy, a substantial part of which was my reputation of being really smart. I had plenty of friends, lived near them, saw them regularly. Then came sixth grade. Whether its was because I had changed, I hadn't changed with everyone else, or I had simply been cast into an entirely different group of people I do not know, but at school my social life went into a tailspin. At one point the two guys who did hand out with me regularly told me that their own reputations were tarnished by contact with me. As a sort of double whammy, the transition from elementary to middle school was accompanied by a move, which meant that most of my old friends dropped out of contact. Over time I guess I just got used to this. By eighth grade I know I spent many a break or lunch walking around by myself. Harkening back to the possibility of everyone else changing naturally while I stayed the same, one of my main worries or fears in life is that I am a year or two behind in maturity. It has certainly felt that way at times, and it would explain why most of my friends over the past few years have been younger than I am. Gah! No offense meant, of course! If I had to come up with a reason for this, it would be that I miss the days of elementary school and am subconsciously trying to hold myself to them. The cynical, philosopher-bashing side of me says that the above is bunk and that I just need to grow up. Anyway, there was not much change between middle and high school. Same crowd (more or less), same living location. I only had one friend who lived nearby, and by this time he and I were drifting apart. Not for any one reason; our visits just seemed to devolve into awkward silences. I spent most of my time reading, playing video games, burying myself in D&D, and trying to arrange visits with Bobby, the one friend from elementary school with whom I remained in anything resembling regular contact. At school I had hooked up with the book/anime club (two clubs, same crowd), but even there I was an outsider. Come to think of it, if our school has an "outsiders group" it's the behind-the-Commons folks, and I was attracted to them first. I was also one of the few people (maybe the only person) who still liked Frodo when he left at the end of last year. Can we edge-dwellers recognize our own kind instinctively, or is there another quality that brings us together? Most of us do seem to be geeks. It was also at the end of freshman year that acting really became my passion with Harvey. Sophomore year was fairly uneventful, although by then I had become quite the quiet one. Over the summer, as I said before, I met the Venetians, and my close friends could no longer be counted on the fingers of one hand. Even now, however, unless the conversation centers on one of a few subjects, I am not a good talker. Many a time people with whom I hang out have been chatting away merrily, and I can offer little more than my ear. Is this my nature, or is it nurture? If the latter, perhaps I can fix it...My tarp is set up. It is by no means a masterpiece, but it will serve. I am in fact a little proud of myself: one particular taut-line hitch kept getting pulled out by the wind, so after a few repairs I improvised a simpler know that can still be slid along the rope an is proving to be a lot more secure. It's a sort of layered overhand knot. The time is now sometime in the mid-afternoon. Beyond that your guess is as good as mine. My stomach hasn't yet noticed that I haven't had lunch. Good. Heh heh. The elements are failing to dislodge my shelter. Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! Rage, blow! Okay, maybe Lear didn't have his tarp in mind when he said that, but I still thought it appropriate...I've always like the darker side of things. When I played make-believe as a kid after watching this or that Disney movie, I would always cast myself in a manner similar to the villain. Sure, Aladdin may have won the day, but Jafar was so much cooler! As a side note, show me someone who didn't play make-believe as a child and I'll show you a very boring person. I loved that back-ad-forth scene at the end of The godfather and its homage in Revenge of the Sith. I'll take Gollum over Frodo any day, I thought Visser Three was great (all of you who read the Animorphs series, please raise your hands), and if I reach a point in a book or movie where it looks like there is absolutely no chance of heroic victory (Yawgmoth anyone?) I feel, for lack of a better word, pleasant. That may be why I enjoy the War of the Spider Queen series. The protagonists are evil, the antagonists are evil, and good is a side show that gets squished at the end. As anyone who knows me is aware of, I love darker plays and have a bit of a fascination with dreams and nightmares. I can also be very creepy when I want to be. Why do I like the dark side? I wouldn't be surprised if I have been--excuse me, a rope has come loose...As I was saying, I wouldn't be surprised if I have been poisoned against good guys by reading the Ramayana. Rama, ugh. Stupid little Mary Sue fanfic--I digress. One other reason: the bad guys have a monopoly on pipe organs, the deepest and richest voices, and maybe not a monopoly, but a very large share of killer music. I am not, however, a fan of horror movies except for Army of Darkness, and that's really a comedy disguised as a horror/fantasy movie. It also has Bruce Campbell...Chalk up another point for my replacement hitch! I wish I knew what its name is...It's starting to get a bit nippy. Sun is still fairly high in the sky, but there is cloud cover. The initial excitement of solo is wearing off to be replaced by the inevitable boredom. Nothing I can't handle. Speaking of what I can and can't handle, I've decided that I will try to actually run the eight miles of run-in instead of just speed-walking them. AWE should have prepped me rather well physically, and other people say that once you've run for long enough you push through a barrier and the running practicalyl sustains itself. I can understand that, as I have found spinning to be very similar. Once you've built a head of steam, your legs will just keep spinning (Dory: Just keep spinning, just keep spinning...) because they know that you'll fall over the instant you stop. My stomach is feeling hungry, but guess what: fasting follows the same principle! I've gone thrity-six hours without eating before, so I know that after a while your body gets used to it and stops complaining. But keep in mind that when you do break your fast you'll want to have a full meal on hand. Nibble a little bit and you become STARVING. All this talk of food is probably not a good idea, so I'll finish by aying that as soon as I get back I am going to Baja Fresh and stuffing myself with guacamole. Ah! I just remembered that I ought to be airing out my toe...That is odd. Somehow I have develpoed a blister on the side of my foot. Good thing I have a couple of hiking-free days ahead of me. I also noticed an excess of flesh on the non-ingrown side of my bad toe, so I trimmed it with my nail clipper to avoid more ingrown problems. It's not as bad as it sounds: the flesh I cut off had neither blood vessels nor nerve endings...Hmph. My tarp protected me from sun and wind, but apparently it wouldn't have held up under rain. At least K helped me relocate. It's getting dark, so I'll cut my journal here for now and get some sleep.

*****

I doubt I'll finish my solo journal tomorrow, as I have a dentist appointment and a voice lesson both after camp.

EDIT: Funny that the post titled "Speechless" is anything but. Anyway, g'night.

Back to Death Valley journaling

Day 11. "Nine little Indians sat up very late. One overslept himself and then there were eight." This was hammering itself into my brain this morning when I looked at my watch and realized that we (there are currently nine of us) had overslept ourselves. Fortunately, nobody else is gone (yet). Last night, while setting up camp, we were treated to fireworks in the form of a distant lightning storm. Very impressive flashes. On the other hand, the wind practically kicked up a sandstorm during dinner (miso soup). BITTERSWEET NEWS ALERT: E is slated to return to us this evening, but M is gone. Now we return to--never mind. Breakfast...As I was saying, this morning we packed our tarps to the tune of a downpour, and the mountains aheads of us are snow-capped. I thought this was a desert!...A bet is on regarding E's arrival time. If he gets here by 4:59:45, I win. The prize is TBA. Things are a bit slow right now, so I'm going to see how interesting conversation is on the other side of camp...Ha! I win! The others started saying that the prize would be N's underwear, which I then spun into a tale about one of my guilty pleasures being dipping freshly-cleaned sets of underwear in chocolate and sucking it out. We played some more rounds of a game where you draw a random M&M from a bag and share a personal piece of information based on the M&M's color. I drew red (your ideal date), which pleased everyone else, but I remained cryptic. S said that I look "hella different; it's scary" the other day. I want a full-size mirror! For solo I want to do something I'd never do otherwise, but what?

Day 12. Today I wrote up several alternate verses for Strident's version of "hush, little baby." I've also started work on a poem based on The Pillowman. All our hiking today has been and will be uphill. Grr. Solo is in three days. I have a hole in my pants, which is rather unfortunate as these are the only pants I have.

Day 13. We are stopping to have lunch ad refresh our water supply. We'll also be losing E2 until tomorrow as he smashed his knee yesterday evening. We're up at joshua tree elevation again, but there are also evergreens of some kind. I hope the girls strike up some interesting conversations today as the guys' conversations come in various shades of dull...Mmmm, chocolate. *drool* Yeah, we've been carrying around some chocolate that was divvied up just now. There's also the matter of the mysterious "High/Low Pack" that we have yet to open. Actually, it's not all that mysterious: we're all sure that it's chocolate, and it smells that way too. Two days until solo. We still have many miles to hike today...Funny moment: all of us walking in circles among the joshua trees, searching for the trowel that E2 lost. Speaking of E2, his knee injury has made it necessary to take an alternate route to solo. The going is flatter, but it's also a few miles longer, so I expect some late nights and early mornings. Oh, well.

Day 14. Solo is tomorrow! Unfortunately, we still have to hike nine to twelve miles today. We may be allowed to see some of our mail before solo. I hope that is the case, as I really want to know if I should spend the time working on lines...Lunch break. We'll be playing another guessing game, this time assigning ideal animals to ourselves. I'd be a dragonfly.

It's almost eleven, so I ought to hit the hay, but first a bare-bones life catch-up.

• I have lines to memorize this weekend.
• I saw Man & Superman on Wednesday. I also saw Ratatoullie, which was good, but not worth the rave reviews it apparently recieved.
• This afternoon I introduced Lilly (which would you prefer, Tam, Lilly, or Strident?) to Les Miserables.
• L. Peter Callendar is a god.
• I have begun taking voice lessons. Must remember to practice tomorrow, as I didn't get any in today!

If I have time (I think I will), I'll post my writings from solo. Those three days alone make up nearly half my journal! I wrote an average of three and a half pages per day!

Rage, blow!

I just learned that I will be taking Shakespeare (Shaxper, Shagsbeard, whichever you prefer) next year. Yes!

I also saw V for Vendetta for the first time. I quite liked it.

Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks!

Casting was announced today. I am the first half of King Lear (Ridiculously Cute is the second half). Woot! This is going to be the the toughest role I've ever had, and hopefully I will rise to the occasion. If only I'd gotten the half with Cordelia's death, but oh well. Can't complain. Most certainly can't complain.

Impulse got Edgar, Mysterious got Edmund, Strident got Kent (never doubted that for a second), Closet Goof got France, Fireball got Reagan, Man got Oswald, and Penguin got Old Man and another bit part on account of his having been in Hawaii for the last four days.

Just realized that Lear is going to be portrayed by a guy with braces. *shiver*

Everything came to meet us and Susannah after camp. Several of us then went to Nation's for munchies, such as burgers, cheesecake, and a nearly Lovecraftian chocolate-coconut pie that nobody seemed to want. We talked about our lives, how to insult nearly every nationality in the world (Penguin's lexicon of hate is impressive), good movies and bad movies, how creepy Mormons are, who loses and who wins, who's in, who's out...ahem.

No worries?

We approach the end of the first week of Shakespeare Camp. Auditions were today, and now I'm unreasonably worried.

Omnipotent said that I have a photographic memory. T says that he sees me more than his family. Memorization and commitment are all well and good, but you need something to hang them on. Most of the theater compliments I get are in one of those two veins; what if they really are the main cards I have to play? That isn't good.

After I finished the "stand up for bastards" monologue, Omnipotent said, "Okay. Good." Does she mean, "good," or, "good, but not great." The competition for Edmund seems to be high, but Lear (split into three parts) not so much. That may be enough to shift me into Lear. Yes, I did put Lear as my second choice, but primarily because it would be a challenge. I would more enjoy playing one of the brothers.

Some of this probably stems from being cast as Tubal and Portia's servant last year.

Just get over it, Peter. She'll cast you tomorrow.

Mind games

Last night's dream was very odd; I don't think I've had one like it before. I couldn't call it anything but a nightmare, but there were no scary entities, hazards, or situations. It was just me in a mirrored-but-otherwise-plain room. It wasn't even isolation that made the nightmare. Rather, I seemed to be playing mind games with myself, imagining or pretending something was out of joint, seizing upon it, and squeezing every last drop of fear out of it. Almost as if I was willing myself to become frightened.

Second. Best. Comic. EVAR.

See the Links section for another great webcomic, Order of the Stick. It's primarily gamer humor, but it still has something for those who don't speak d20.