EASTER IS COMING.

I don't know why this got me so very excited.
I can't wait to see my Michael.

TOP TEN THINGS RUNNING THROUGH MY HEAD RIGHT NOW.

(In no particular order...)

1. Far too much homework.
2. Conservatories.
3. Moving into my first apartment.
4. Michael coming into town.
5. The first time I will have seen him in three months.
6. End of Spring semester.
7. Preparation for Summer internship.
8. Finding a job that can keep me (relatively) financially sound.
9. Migraines that never go away.
10. Love that keeps me up at night.

BECAUSE I WANT TO.

At some point in my life, I will vow to take a normal picture.
But, not yet.

EXTRAS.

This is why I have faith in mankind (Read: British Television).
No other reason.
Just this.
Yep.

THE SUPER SECRET SUPRISE CASSEROLE.

"Wanda, we are witches. We have to make something that is tasty and distinctive to our heritage."

STUFF THAT IS CUTE.

Eggplant Penguins and Tomato Hippos.
Love.

FACE.

Although thoroughly nerve-wracked, I still can't fathom the cause of this week's almost immediate insanity. I've probably had more free time to myself than any other week this semester, which might point to a direction of solitude and loneliness, but not necessarily an indication for why I feel exactly the way I feel.
Something is looming. I have no desire to speculate or configure my life in such a way that would leave me open to find out what it is, but I can simply feel the enormous weight that is falling down around me. For right now, the most productive thing I can do is to keep my head to the ground and my thoughts elsewhere.
I am ready for "new" and "change" and "different."
I refuse to make a real and genuine sentence out of those words.

THIS IS NOT ENTIRELY INTERESTING.

Something about tonight is urging me to sob uncontrollably.
I don't know what it is, nor do I have any inclination toward sadness, but I can't deny how overwhelming this feeling is.
I'm still not sure if I'm going to take the time to see it through.

THE PORCH.

Ahh.
The sheer relief that comes along with being home and around family is something that I have finally found myself fortunate enough to bask in.

Yes, that was alliteration. So what?

I missed them, and I needed a little bit of time away from everything, if only to prepare me for how real and intimidating life is soon to become.

And now, I sleep.

Goodnight.

[Editor's Note: I continue to jump back and forth, editing this entry, adding more to it, subtracting insignificant details. I am a perpetual blog whore, yet I am unsure of exactly what discourse is trying to exit from my body and onto this keyboard. I am infinitely oblivious to whatever my system is seeking to emote, and therefore, will leave with as generalised a post as when I first allowed myself to click "PUBLISH."
I am a stupid, stupid brainless Kelley.]

TEA PARTY.

I love my girls.

I KNOW...

...he loves me.

LOVE AND ROOMING.

So excited. So ready. So tired of everything else.

RESOLVE.

There are moments this year when I've not known what life expects from me. I feel frantic to put together some semblance of what my life will be, should be, is supposed to be.
In one sense, my restlessness is all in vain. I need not worry about the particulars, just that my progress is evident. In what exact direction, however, I'm not exactly sure.

I started a conversation with a relative stranger last night. Perhaps it is of no significance for someone bold enough to talk their way through life, but I should have felt relatively petrified.
I did not.

This semester has taught me, if nothing else, that I will make it on my own. If every ship goes down around me, I will remain above water until my timeless metaphor weighs me down below the surface.
Even then, I think I will be fine.

Financially.
Emotionally.
Physically.
Educationally.
Mentally.
Professionally.

I will survive.

WELL...ALRIGHT.

So, my kitty went blind last night.
I'm relatively devastated.
This made me smile.
Okay.

"A COMEDIAN AT THE OSCARS."

Best part of the Academy Awards Ceremony. Ever.

I SERVE TO WIN APPLAUSE.

Pictures. Yep.

THINGS THAT I KNOW.

1. I have found love. Possibly the love of my life. But love regardless.
2. I love to type. I may complain about it, but typing allows me a vocabulary I could never truly pronounce, heathen that I am.
3. I love stage makeup. I enjoy putting it on, designing it, and finding justification for occasionally letting my girly side out.
4. I want to own my own pet. For reals.
5. There are people in my life that I trust, and people that I do not. That is the way that things will be forever, and I have come to accept that.
6. I have found love in those around me, whether they know it or not. I think they know it, though.
7. I am perpetually exhausted, and I am okay with that.

WORST VALENTINE'S DAY EVER.

That's really all I need to say.
Goodnight.

TUPPERWARE PANDAS AND LOVE.

For Michael.

This is Chauncy, and he is my best friend.

This is Gregory, and he is one laid-back motha-effa. He loves you. Really.

THE YEAR OF THREE VALENTINES.

I have every intention of acting the fool tomorrow and pretending I'm giddy and far from saddened. The truth is, of course, that I'm a giant, smelly liar.

I am aching to be with the person I love more than anything. I am perpetually drawn towards the reality that he is entirely unattainable for the next long while, and that hurts more than any greeting card and box of candy could subdue or diminish.

I have Valentines here to love and keep cheerful and jaunty around, but the one I miss the most will just have to share in the sentiment of my words.

I love you.
I guess that's all I can possibly say.

WELCOME BACK, MY GOOD FRIEND.

I single-handedly installed my new laptop hard drive (No great feat I recognize, but, still...), and I now have re-gained my computer livelihood. I'm incredibly happy to finally have the access I've missed so much, which means I may actually have the capability to do homework! And sleep! Not just one or the other!

Alright. I'm off to be moderately productive.

STAYING ALIVE...SORT OF.

It has been nearly an infinite amount of time since my last opportunity to post on this site, and the primary reasons for that, in descending order, are as follows:

1. My laptop crashed.
2. Life is insanity personified.
3. My laptop is dead.
4. I am enrolled in seventeen hours of classes, as well as part-time work.
5. Laptop = Bye Bye.

I am consistently exhausted, and most of that revolves around the inability to schedule my Computer-Needs-Time around Library-Open-Hours. It's disheartening, but I've been able to manage thus far. If I can make it through this next week, anything is possible.
I'm talking, flying ponies and junk. Anything.

On another note, it's odd to see my best friend indulge in something I've embraced for such a long time. In earnest, I never thought I would see the day when he would let his fingers clack against a keyboard for the sheer joy of typing and expression. Now, however, I'm glad to know that I can communicate in additional manners and customs than were previously allotted to the two of us.
I miss him.

On that note:

WEEKENDS ARE FOR CALAMITY. AND J-HUD.

"Calamity" might be a bit harsh- how about "overwhelming discord and mayhem?"
Nice.

1. I am intensely lucky to have by my side (hypothetically speaking) the one man I love and infinitely care about in the midst of everything that life entails.
2. I am grateful for my peers and confidantes, for they never seem to let me down when I am left in foul moods or with an air of sadness about me.
3. And, best of all, I am endlessly blessed to live in a time when YouTube has, ready at my fingertips, Jennifer Hudson being a bad-ass diva on television that I don't get up early enough to watch.

I love her, I do.

IT'S ALL ABOUT DUALITY.

It seems relatively logical to me that the first full week of classes would lend itself to bringing out the most emotionally unstable side of me, as well as providing the most intellectually hostile and physically draining environment one could possibly fathom at this point in time.

Indeed.

I have survived the first seven days of what I expect to be the most taxing semester I've had thus far in my collegiate career. That, in itself, must be seen as some sort of accomplishment. If taking seventeen hours weren't enough, there's rehearsal and general (and always theatrical) insanity to surround my non-existent free time.

On that note: rehearsals are proceeding well, and I am excited for the production at large, along with all of the people I am gifted enough to work with. It is truly a joy to have people eager to allow me the space and freedom I need to be spontaneous, ridiculous, and totally distracted from everything else I don't want to have floating into a genuinely creative atmosphere. Maybe that sounds unintentionally odd, but this is one of my first performance experiences that is facilitating my desire for comedic expression and downright silliness in the midst of a genuinely great text. It's making me happy, and I'm not sure what more can be said about it.

Fricandeau.

The group of individuals I have spent most of my time with in the past two weeks are suddenly the people I care most about in the world. I have found a number of incredibly intelligent, compassionate, and honest human beings. I love them. I have so many people in my life so worthy of loving that, despite how tumultuous everything becomes, I am an infinitely lucky kiddo.

I may be depressed, but at least I'm grateful.

THE NINTH.

Today has felt moderately volatile.
Perhaps that juxtaposition of words is startling, or maybe, to other minds, reassuring. It felt to me as though no level of balance could validate the fact that I am in a place (both physically and metaphorically) that leaves me simultaneously joyful and longing for more. I have an urgency within me that seeks relief in whatever manic result it can find, coupled with a growing complacency towards the things and individuals surrounding me.
Indeed, I must agree: how infinitely odd.

It's already tomorrow. Classes will restore the chaos of daily living, and I remain both hopeless and overly confidant in my desire to exist.

'Tis simple enough a task, I suppose.

SPRING, 2007.

Back.
Registration.
So infinitely glad.
Feeling kind of awkward.
This semester better prove to be an amazing one.

THE DAY THAT FEELS AS THOUGH IT WILL NEVER END.

Despite the fact that I've garnered a total of seventy-five minutes of sleep in the last thirty hours, I am still feeling relatively upbeat.
And, despite the rather groaning fact that my flight from Charlotte to Allentown in officially dead (in the sense that the FAA has cancelled it and held a service in its non-existant honor), I have been typing, reading, and playing UNO online. The news of its earlier cancellation was abrupt if not relatively shocking, leaving me in a rush with sixty other passengers, all fighting tooth and nail for answers and flight vouchers.
At the moment, I'm scheduled to depart from the great state of North Carolina just after two PM, at which point I head out to Pittsburgh, at which point (and this is the section where I'm crossing fingers and doing a holy jig), I catch a flight to Eastern PA.
This is, of course, pending all the the tumultuous energy that is floating around this airport, stuffed with individuals who would give arms and legs to have comfortable seating, inexpensively priced dining, and better yet, the golden ticket back into loved ones' arms.
This airport thing can get moderately weepy. I haven't reached the brink of dreariness just yet, but, in a positive spirit, there is always opportunity for growth. That is, depression.
Nah. I'm relatively confident that this should work out in the end. At the very least, maybe they'll pay for my damn nine dollar crab cake sandwich.

OH, CHRISTMAS TREE.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph (and his Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat)," this is the most unbelievably wonderful thing ever.


(Note: This is, of course, in leiu of a play-based post this evening. After all, it is Christmas.)

A PEAR SLICE IN YOUR JELLO.

Tonight was, despite the fact that is was a wet and rainy Christmas, considerably warm.
Not in temperature, per se, but in the hearth-esque glow that steamed out from the people I shared company with. The description might seem off-putting or, dare I say it, "smutty" in those terms, but, in fact, it was a most civilized occasion.
Civilized, that is, when the grown-ups weren't making penis jokes.
Lucky for me, I have one of the most energetic and sassy Uncle Franks known to man, and his companions are some of the most fabulously entertaining individuals I could have imagined spending my holiday time with. We were treated to a delicious dinner, saucy conversation, platonic embraces, and, best of all, the most fruity celebration this side of...well, conservatism.

It never ceases to amaze me how wonderful old, orchid-loving men can be.

And, yes: this book definitely was the focus of their coffee table.

MEDEA

By Christopher Durang and Wendy Wasserstein

-To be honest, as tempting as Medea is, the Chorus is the best part of this show, hands down, no questions asked. Totally.

NO SHOULDER

By Nina Shengold

-Ruth is obviously the nicer of the two parts (especially seeing as I'm too old to play a "waif-ish" sixteen-year-old).

WHY DOES BLOGGER HATE ME?

Am I stuck with an infinitely unappealing white screen, or is this just a test-post?

You be the judge.

(Hint: It's the former. Definitely the former.)

UPDATE: Blogger doesn't hate me. It loves me. And it's back to normal.

EARLY CHRISTMAS PRESENT, TAKE ONE.

Oh, how deeply compassionate my family can be when I find myself needing them the most.

Christmas and 20th Birthday presents now consist of [somewhat expensive] tickets to see Mr. Read in the Poconos from the 31st to January 4th, at which point I meet up with family at Hilton Head Island for a mini-family reunion.

I am overjoyed and giddy.
And those two adjectives can't even begin to reinforce how much I miss him.


[Note: Not Gerard. He has a creepy "porn stache." And staches, of any form, are just scary.]

CLOSER

By Patrick Marber

-I'm not sexy enough to play either Anna or Alice (as a character actress often should not be), and I am totally and completely okay with that.

WORKOUT

By Wendy Wasserstein

-The "woman" is an obviously obsessive sort of character, which could be nice to play, but physically, I just wouldn't cut it. Too bad.

THE ROLE OF DELLA

By John J. Wooten

-Emma, in her infinite control of the situation, is my obvious first pick. However, With the physicality and comedy that can spring from Elizabeth, I feel as though her character might prove the greater challenge and, ultimately, more fun.

HUH.

I'm glad that I just saw my six-year-old Target brown/polka dotted shirt on a thirty-something-year-old woman in the midst of a Disney Mobile commercial.

Life is consistently odd.

THE MOST MASSIVE WOMAN WINS

By Madeleine George

-This show has obvious appeal, even if only for the weight necessary to produce the show realistically. Carly is feisty and moderately abrasive, which I love the character for, but Sabine, with her "Michael" monologue, is most definitely my choice.

INDEPENDENCE

By Lee Blessing

-Evelyn is a firecracker of a role, but Kess is, if I dare say so myself, a really strong and engaging female, even if the idea of her as a lesbian forces the character to be as gruff as she is.

THREE TALL WOMEN

By Edward Albee

-Given the fact that I'd need to age myself considerably before tackling any of these parts, B and C are both roles that could easily make me the happiest of campers.

JUST BECAUSE I SAID SO.

It's been a bad day. Not for any specific rhymes or reasons, but...well, just because.
So, pictures.

DESDEMONA: A PLAY ABOUT A HANDKERCHEIF

By Paula Vogel

-Emilia. Definitely Emilia. As long as I don't screw up her "Broad Irish Brogue." Thank you, Paula Vogel, for the insertion of "Broad" into her character description.

THE PERPETUAL TICK AND TOCK.

Here I sit, at home, drowning in the laziness that exists when there seems nothing pertinent going on.
I could be complaining, and I have some instances where I am sure that will be all that springs from my fingertips, but, at the moment, I can do nothing but bask in the lack of emotion I'm feeling. I, of course, feel the need to be more outwardly driven and productive in my daily existence, but perhaps tomorrow shall provide significant leaps and bounds forward. One completion at a time, I have almost overcome the desperation and torment that is Holiday Shopping. Not that I have all of my projects completed, but at least a few here and there have come to pass, and I am unbelievably happy with all of them thus far.
So, left to tackle is the remainder of loved ones, not to mention the hope of propelling myself into the PA region at some point in the coming months.

I feel lucky that I am not unbelievably miserable. Just marginally bored.

THE NATURE AND PURPOSE OF THE UNIVERSE

By Christopher Durang

-Both Elanor and Elaine are almost character roles, but I think I'm better suited for Elaine's "Master of Ceremonies" kind of part.

LIVES OF THE GREAT WAITRESSES

By Nina Shengold

-Kay, Tammie Sue, and Yetta (despite possible ethnic conflicts) are all nice character roles that I'd love to play. Melissa has that great monologue at the end (which I've already used for auditions), but she probably needs much more ingenue than I could fathom.

WHO'S AFRAID OF VIRGINIA WOOLF?

By Edward Albee

-I would kill to play Martha in twenty years when I could viably pass for an older woman.

THE SERVANT OF TWO MASTERS

By Carlo Goldoni
(Translated and adapted by Jeffrey Hatcher and Paolo Emilio Landi)

-This Spring, I'm playing Brighella. Sweet.

TWO DAYS AND COUNTING.

I would assume that time is supposed to make all things easier to sort out, to deal with, to confront. Along those same lines, I would garner that time, itself, is a mechanism of healing and growth.
The difficulty is, I don't have any desire to be healed or fostered- instead, I'd much rather remain broken, battered, and content with that parallel reality of happiness my life has sprung up. I fervently seek it out- I miss it already with all of my heart, mind, and soul.
There is no cry echoing louder within my being that screams for two beings to merely "be" as they once were, even if that parting seems mere moments ago.

I haven't really cried yet. And, I don't plan on doing so.
Productivity reigns supreme in reality, I suppose, and I will go on acting in such a way.
But, I miss you. I miss you infinitely.

FAT PIG

By Neil LaBute

-I could play Helen. Not that I'd really, desperately, eagerly want to, but I could.

YEAR TWO, SEMESTER ONE.

And so comes the end of things.
I would boldly say that this semester is coming quickly to a close, and no one would dare argue with me. However, it is for vastly different circumstances that I find myself dreading its final nature. For, as things cease to be an everyday part of life, they, in some way, shape, or form, cease to exist with certainty. Surely everyday life is uncertain enough, but as an individual, one works to reinforce the security possible, so as to preserve whatever hope of continuity is possible.
This evening was as successful as I thought this evening could possibly be, and yet, I am overwhelmed with the uneasiness that the close of this term will bring me. I earnestly yearn for some sort of security, some ease in the pang of change, and some solid resolution that life will not be so restless and domineering of the things I seek out.

On a relatively unrelated note, the epic Night of Bridal seemed to run the way I had hoped it would. It seemed well-received, and I'm eager and hopeful that Friday will prove similar in quality.

BREAKING (IN SO MANY MORE WAYS THAN ONE).

Things will get better.

They have to.

THINGS KOALA BEARS WOULD SAY.

(BY TIM WEINMANN)

Yay!

Love me!

Climbing trees is fun!

Let's volunteer at a soup kitchen this Christmas.

My tongue is funny!

Eating leaves is fun!

Will you help me think of something nice we can do for Grandma?

Look, a pouch!

Let's prevent a forest fire!

No, you're the cutest ever.

Camus is boring. I find Karl Jaspers's philosophy much more enlightening.

Wheeee!

Let's make cider!

I bet I'll live forever!

Eternal gratitude to McSweeney's Internet Tendancy Lists.

DIRECTIONS FOR A SUCCESSFUL [DAY] [ANNIVERSARY] [NOVEMBER 3RD].

1. Attempt to leave Speech Communications 101 ten minutes early.
2. Get moderately lost on I95.
3. Lose the car that is following you.
4. Yell at your passenger. Loudly.
5. Gently rear-end an SUV.
6. Take a Shakespearean Performance workshop.
7. Decide how and why Mr. and Mrs. Macbeth lost their child.
8. Notice the ping-pong shaped hole in your orange vehicle.
9. Try to relax. Shop. Good combinations like that.
10. Eat dinner at a loud, busy, expensive restaurant.
11. Plant a dead battery in your car.
12. Call AAA. Jump start the mother-effer.
13. Drive home in relative silence/embarrassment.
14. Watch a scary movie. "Rosemary's Baby," or something comparative.
15. Sleep.

PICTURES.

A hodge-podge of the week with a new camera phone that I would "know biblically" if that were possible.

HALLOWEEN.

I can't fathom what has actually come to pass in the past ten days. Not that anything of major significance has occurred, but I can't even gather the time to recount all that these last days have entailed. I've worked non-stop (and enjoyed the benefits of that work), surrounded myself with relatively good thoughts, and fought to enjoy myself as well as those around me.
I wasn't happy for a while, but I think I am right now.
Happy, that is.
Not exuberant, mind you, but happy. I'm enjoying the prospects of this week and work and interaction with the people I am growing to care more and more about. I'm glad to feel proud of myself now and again, to feel as though I'm earnestly producing and harvesting the things that I am responsible, but also the things that are bound to make me a better, fuller individual.

Cryptic.

Then again, what would Halloween be without intrigue or mystery?
A veiled piece of crap. Uh-huh.

AND...

I am the definition of emotional instability.

EMOTIONALLY GENERALISTIC ENTRY.

It's been many a time recently when I've stumbled upon the knowledge that I lack the words to convey adequately how I am feeling at one point in time or another. The truth of the matter, I'm finding, is not only that I lack descriptive entities for those emotions, but the understanding of what those diversions from rationality are actually, physically composed of. I have, in earnest, no idea what I am feeling, or how to realistically and objectively react to the world around me.

This, dare I sound obvious, is frustrating.

I possess passion and drive- this I know for certain. I also am blessed with the desire to want good and positive things for those around me. I fear that I've come to a point in my existence where I must let those two things intersect, and then, finally, diverge from one another, lest I watch my resolve chip away one bit at a time, leaving my own sense of pride and confidence unrecognizable to its proverbial friends and loved ones.

I have to take myself into consideration right now.
I'm not sure exactly what that means, but I really, truly hope that I can figure it out.

I need a good cry, a weekend of sleep, and the knowledge that I will come out of this with people who are willing to reciprocate my efforts.
Realistically speaking, at least two out of those three will do.
In my experience, number three is next to impossible.

TONIGHT.

I need a cat named "Murray."

And that's just the way it is.

SPECIAL.

I happen to be typing on the front steps of the auditorium.
Which, in my opinion, makes this post pretty damn special.
It's rather interesting how the day has progressed thus far. It has been tiring, as most days are, but I feel relatively secure in the scheme of things. Not in the mentality that life is solid and confidently accurate in my line of vision, but comfortable. I know that whatever is going on, whatever might be exploding around me, I'm oddly serene. Life will continue, people will progress, and so will the life I choose to lead.
I can take whatever is thrown at me, and, as I have said many times before, I welcome the opportunity to catch the metaphorical sphere of athleticism.

I'm glad that I still retain the ability to make absolutely no sense whatsoever.

UNTITLED POST.

ELEVEN.

You've grown accustomed to my face.
I wish it so.
Packing a suitcase that seems as temporary as it is finite.
I glance over, unaware and still presumptuous.
I wish it perpetually so, ritualistic as it is terrifying and wonderful.
Yours is the only face I shall ever let see me like this.
You will never cease to frighten me.
With so much more than I could ask of any other human beings.
I was serenely independent before we met.
Content is something merely to bargain with, for I had known nothing of this world.
Like breathing in and breathing out, in and out, out and in.
Your terse and cold glare that never ceases to soften every part of me.
The image that sits lumped in my throat, frightened of disappearing.
Never again may I be content with something less.
Accustomed, perhaps.
I pray it so.
For I've grown accustomed to yours, as well.

THANK YOU, THEATRE HISTORY I TEXTBOOK!

I was a patsy.
Actually, I, and several others who purchased books off of Half.com (A website which I still adore, mind you.) from a particular seller ("diablosd5", just in case you were wondering.) are all laying wait until we're able to file claims against someone who I will eloquently deem a "dickwad."
Hmm. Something less harsh.
Perhaps, "dork-face?"
Better. Much, much better.
That whole situation is hardly of consequence, however, and I'll probably get my money back as soon as I am able to complain officially to the gods of cheap books.

It's amazing how passive I can be about this. Until recently, I would have been yelling at my computer or shaking babies, or taking some sort of action that would adequately express my rage and frustration over said internet bull. But, the fact of the matter is that I am unequivocally exhausted, overly content with life thus far, and rearing for more petty excitement to fuel my day.

This weekend holds the promise of little rest, a bit of Departmental Proclamation via Campus Visit Day, and possibly, if I'm lucky, some pie.
Pie. Ha.
Chicken nuggets. Salad. Something appetizing.

Fear not, gentle soul. I remain the eternal fat kid.

POST NUMBER 700, BETCH.

Given my daily state of affairs, seven hundred posts in close to three years seems viable and responsible enough a catalog of my life thus far.
So, as an educated and mature response, I include this video.

Enjoy.

"A WAY BACK TO THEN."

In these trappings of evening that have left me feeling less and less human, and increasingly inconsequential as the minutes tick by, at least I have managed to find something that perpetuates my heart's relentless sigh.



What would I do without [title of show]?

HUGH THE FISH (SEPTEMBER 30TH, 2005- SEPTEMBER 12TH, 2006)

We had a nice long run together, Hugh.
You will be loved and missed.
Go blow bubbles in that big ocean in the sky, and I'll see you again someday.


Here's to you, my friend.

DANDY.

It is eternally comforting to know that I will always, without fail, contain the capacity to make a veritable buffoon of myself.
Endlessly thankful, I sit basking in the relatively impartial knowledge that regardless of my understanding of life thus far, I'm pretty much ready for whatever this humbling existence has to throw at me. I'm intentionally casting myself in the way of positivity and personal interaction, and I cannot be more thankful for the things and people it has allotted me in this short span of time.

I welcome tomorrow, and the next day.

BASICALLY, I'M DYING.

There have been moments, and, in fact, days of my life where I have felt better than I do right now.
Much better. Significantly better. Muy bueno. Tres bien.
(Neither of which are literal translations of anything.)

I am consistently drugged, and have been for the last forty-eight hours, all in hopes of recovering some sort of state of physical health or poise.
Not that I expect said attempts to help, but...

Wow. Tylenol PM is fun.
NyQuil is, too.
Kelley sleepy.

DEVOID.

What can I possibly force myself to say, and how can I humanly make sense of any situation that could approach me right now?
I am spinning in every legitmate and metaphorical realm, and I need my phone to start ringing at this very instant.
This place (emotionally speaking), in the purest of logical terms, is "doing me in."

INTENSE LEARNING AHEAD.

I've finally garnered a few moments to transcribe my thoughts, feelings, or even understandings of the past days.
And, of course, I'm absolutely clueless of what to say.
I am, as was expected, exhausted, but I'm also enjoying the company of some of my favorite people ever, and that, in itself, has left me buoyant and joyful enough to compensate for any discrepancies.

My preparation for speech (at this moment) consists of [title of show]-ing myself to death, playing a speed round of sudoku, and watching as roomie decorates her span of the pad. She made me coffee this morning, which was one of the nicest things anyone has ever done for me at ten AM. Thanks, roomie.

I am unbelievably thankful that today is Friday. Perhaps that shows a sign of weakness, seeing as we're roughly three days into the semester, but I'd like to think of it as a willingness to invigorate myself in preparation for the intense learning ahead.

Intense learning. Ha. That should be a contact sport, a la dodgeball.
Later.

WELL...

At this moment, to fathom practicality in a great depth of reflection is something even I am forced to scoff over.

The scholarly, back-to-chaos events of the past few days have been enough to compose lyrical banter upon witty trash-talks, and yet, I have sufficiently drained myself of the human will and eagerness required to present said treasures to the world at large.

I just moved in.
I'm exhausted.
I'll talk to you later, okay?

Thanks.

FAMILY MATTERS.

This evening- well, to be totally honest, merely the last twenty minutes of this evening- has left me nothing short of mind-numbingly conflicted. Looming in the horizon sat the reality I am now facing, with resolution on either of the two ends of the idiotic spectrum. Both colors of this metaphor are currently kindergarten-finger-smeared all over someone who, for many years reigning and even more to come, will remain a fixture of my life and its understanding forthwith. I've been left with no choice but to deem someone, a person I find a rather ingenuous mix of cosmic creativity and reverent logic, the ultimate doo-doo head.

With sheer brilliance must also come sheer moron-acy. Moron-itis. Moron-ness.

My point- why are smart people total and complete knuckle-sandwiches? With cheese? And why do the chips they come with never suit my at-the-moment tastes? Why not potato salad? Or vegetables on the side?

Why must these infernal banes of my existence always keep me craving for robust and more inviting expansions in their future, only to exhaust all my trust and succumb to the pressures of all things peer?
And why do I keep speaking of these things in multiples? Do I have more than one doo-doo head, finger-painted, metaphorical mess in my life right now?
No. Just the one. And I want to cut his adolescent little face off for being so careless.

It is very obviously one in the morning, and I am very obviously disappointed with someone I care about greatly.

Cue "perfect excuse to stop writing scathingly and play sudoku."
And...

Go.

RECUPERATION.

I certainly am one to recognize that it's been a few days since I arrived back from my trip, but, to be honest, I've fallen back into the realm of complete and utter exhaustion.
Something that, dare I be the first to say it, is not entirely productive towards human interaction.

Here is a tiny bit of photographic evidence of my exploits, more of which can be found via Facebook here and here.







If I was ambitious, I would post more. However, I simply don't see that being an option.
Word.

I'M IN A NEW YORK STATE OF MIND.

Gerard and I head out for PA and, in time, New York, at around 5:00 PM.
Which, dare I say it, is pretty damned exciting.

For the most part, I hope that this trip proves the veritable antithesis of my summer thus far: gripping, tactile, enamoring, exhilarating, and best yet, NEW YORK CITY.

[Editor's Note: Don't try to make sense of that statement. I will sing showtunes if you try to make sense out of it. Seriously. Don't dare me. I'll take you down.]

Whereas the rabid energy and relentless giddiness have yet to appear, I do have some sort of a nervous tension has situated itself in my gut, indicating nothing but poor diet and holistic planning. Or nervousness. Whatever.

To be brief (That which I am never, nor will ever be...), I'm ready to spend a week stalking theatrical marvels, singing like the utter geek I am, snapping memories quicker than I can take coinciding photographs, and loving the people I am with and without the best that I can.

This is my chance to be human again.
I am so out of here.

HA.

Ha.
Ha, ha.
Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha.


I have The Mononucleosis.
Hence the perpetually crappy and formulaic existence.

Explanations are sweet like candy. Sweet, sweet candy.

FORTUNATE.

This is basically what my evening consisted of.


Luckily, my dinner was kind enough to make it all better for me.
Sort of.

"The cure for greif is motion."

I'll feel better tomorrow.
I have to.

"LIZ-ARD LICKS HIS EYE-BALL."

I'm frantically eager to write something this morning. Nothing of consequence, mind you, but something that I can at least validate as a stipend of my own thought, the dull inkling of mental capacity that I have stored up somewhere in my relatively snug cranium.

[Editor's Note: Ha. I just received a piece of spam with the subject title of "peepee growth." Also front-runners in the subject box were, "Screwme PLease" and "INTERIORDESIGNERYOUARENOW." Mind you, their titles was not nearly as grammatically correct or sound as the first, but I thought it was a meritous effort from all three nonetheless.]

Despite the fact that medicinal necessity has left me poked, prodded, and pining for blood this morning, I'm in a realistically sound mood. The prospect of my older brother visiting on Friday is a nice twist to scenario, as is the idea that I have a mere five days to wait until PA, New York City, and all the glorious things that go along with that: Michael Time, Gerard Time, etc. (Although similar in sound, I assure you that "Time" with these two men is vastly different in its content and disposition. In every essence of the word "different." Promise.)

I know that there are most certainly other factors accumulating to form my rather good-natured energy and positive force at the moment, I'm just not exactly sure what those factors have been spun of.

Also, and MOST DEFINITELY a factor of my recent mood, I've managed to catch Burt Bacharach's latest televised endeavors via the Geico commercial where he plays a little ditty about lizards licking eyeballs and getting rear-ended (Dirty!) and such. Contrary to popular belief, it basically validates my existence.



Alright.
I'm good.