You best be believing.
The consistent lack of Seussical cast rehearsals is starting to drain upon my mental facilities: we have nine weeks before the show, and we've yet to do anything.
I just want my last show to be amazing. Phenomenal. Mind-boggling.
Or I'm going to hurt someone. Really, really badly.
I would feel more articulate this evening if it weren't for the fact that I've been standing over my scanner, NOT illegally coping things which are illegal to copy.
All that nothing takes a lot out of you. As rehearsal has taught us.
Explanation:
Mentally, I don't know where I, or the universe at large, stand. I feel neither distraught or disheveled, yet highly aware of my own mentality. I know exactly the things I'm thinking of, and dare not take the time to translate scrolling thought into legitimate revelation. Writing would take much longer, therefore interrupting my sleeping pattern, and ruining whatever remains of my solitary life.
And you wouldn't want to be held responsible for that, would you?
Egh. I have never been subject to aching such as this. Am I aware of what aches? Of course not.
Breathe. Out. In. Etcetera.
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