so my play is over. well, osvaldo's play is over that i tried very hard to direct. summer dahnced, michael turned into a dog, nacho improvised like a motherfucker, jamie had some mareos but didn't give birth to a dog, and i ran in place like a tie-wearin bobo. and there were more audience members than cast members present for both shows, so it was a success. it was great. had we had a week or 2 more, it would have been fabulous. but i simply must say right here that having so many ties around on stage as symbols for servitude, penises, humiliation, and inner suffering was fantastic! if you are an argentinian out of work, and they offer you the position that comes with a tie and a doghouse, beware.

holy freakin hell do i feel funny.

pero jesus, que suerte tengo que sobreviví, y !POR FIN se acabó!

a feeling of satisfaction that is both rare and delicious in my life. one that i feel only when i am responsible for putting something fun on. i couldn't tap into that nervous ball sitting across from me, or maybe i got most of it out during the insomnia sessions and the previous night of drunken screaming, jumpsuit-wearing guests, youth semi-corruption, and fire-building.

sadly, although julie mentioned on the flyer that all men in jumpsuits get free beer, only ONE man rose to the occasion! and how! but that's how it all works, when you invite as many men as possible to come to your party in jumpsuits, you get ONE guy half-assing it because his girlfriend made him, and like seven hundred GIRLS in jumpsuits!

anyway i wonder about my capacities, and how i felt that smaller is harder. bigger is....just a surprise maybe, and so not as scary. felt confident during, and the mental nitpicking flies rampant hours afterwards. i fear the videotape, and the power of the fear is almost enough to stave off a viewing until there is an undeniable occasion. maybe i'm just a queen of bossa nova and i really need to get over it with a wave of my jeweled hand. press play, mi reina, presione la toca....

the way i miss dad tonight is different from any way i have before. it's not as hard or sad, but it's deeper. it makes sense in my heart, and not in writing.

i really reeeeeeeeeeeally wish my mind would quiet down. i can't get it to stop talking all this dumb shit late at night, rushing in on the airiest and gailiest of currents as i try and check out for the evening. goddammit. motherfuckasscracksuckingrimjobfucketyfuck-fucktitlickingmotherfucker-suvdrivingwhalekillinggoddessraping insomnia. WHY CAN'T I RELAX AND GO TO SLEEP GODDAMMIT??? so tired. so tired.

i need to buy my books tomorrow. fuck.

en fin, a sumarizar: play was good and fun, day was ok if not dreary, luck was pretty good, racked with indecision and mental paralysis, did not go out to hang with kim because i was not in the mood, did not go see show because no one else wanted to go and it wasn't the kind of show you go see on your own because it would make you depressed, tried to take a walk and listen to my psychic reading from october, but my walkman broke, and then i was going to go anyway but it started raining, thus aborting the mission i had to walk over to michael's and face my paranoia head-on...or perhaps more likely, wander around town creepily and walk up the house planning to go in and then change my mind in fear. so i stayed at home, and chatted about chicago anatomy with a-milla, tried to dance with some help from e. badu but failed, and then played my mother's guitar which i hadn't picked up since before break.

so, it was pretty good, pretty weird.

the one phrase from the psychic reading tape that DID play before it kicked the bucket said "and with good therapy you could do SOOOOOOOO much better........"

jesus christ, has it come to that? has it come to that?????

peace out