I am restless and unhappy.

I was laying on my couch last night, after having destroyed half a pizza and a couple beer, and I was looking at my things.

My things.

And I thought: What would I do with all this shit if/when I just picked up and left?

Sell most of it, I decided. Give away what I couldn't sell. Put some of it in storage (namely, my magic green chair, maybe a few other things).

What would I do then?

Cruise ships?

New Zealand?

Working visa?

This theatre business is a funny one.

Everyone always wants you to be faster and better and faster and better and faster and better.

I try hard, I do. Every time I think I'm fast enough, somebody asks me to go faster.

There is no time to learn anything new. I have to do that on my own time.

In order to have the leisure to fiddle and experiment with a project, I need to take it home.

I may spend ten, twelve hours on it, but I only bill for the allotted eight.

"You need to learn to paint and talk at the same time," Donna said with a bit of a nervous laugh, taking the roller from me and going over what I'd just painted.

I thought I had learned that.

Apparently not.

She apologized a few minutes later, but the damage was done: the words had wormed into my ear and were rattling around my skull.

~

This entry is days old now.

On saturday night I tried to drown myself in whiskey.

Only problem was, it kept getting in my stomach.

Funny that.

I'm doing better now, but I'm very weary.

It's going to be a loooong week.

.

Rosie.

Before&After