What collides?

I have had a miserable day. I want sympathy. I'm far too tired to write out my troubles again, and yet, I still don't feel sated with prior rantings. So I am just going to copy and paste directly from emails that I sent to the Boy. Aren't you lucky! It's like a super secret glimpse into my life!

Preface: As ... someone may know, I am running a show now. Normally, I love this. I am an actress, foremost, but I love working crew, and I love my producing work. I am a theatre enthusiast in general. So when I say that I was achingly disappointed in my evening, I ain't just bullshitting you. Also, since I didn't mention this in the email, my scene partner for my class most definitely has a crush on me. It's really pissing me off. And if he doesn't learn his lines, I think I have every right to murder him. Moving on.

Email the first: Oh good, it's you. As my designated lifemate, you get to hear me carry on about my completely shitty day. I took a lot of napping last night, and actually slept for a good deal of the night. However, since I'd been so ... awake for a few days prior, I was still extremely tired. And I had to wake up early to do my laundry, because I'm not sure when I'm going to *get* another free *hour*. Whilst doing my laundry, I discovered something insidious. The dryers, which cost 75 cents per use, run for 54 minutes. Without exception. 75 more cents if you want 54 more minutes. What I have done in the past is, at select times, remove select clothing items which are already dry, to help the still-damp ones dry faster. I could take as much time as I wanted, since the timer only counted down while it was running. NOT ANYMORE, THOUGH! Now, the minutes get used up -- even if the dryer isn't on! What the fuck am I forking over my change for? Anyway, because of the need to do laundry, I had a very short time to get to class, even though my class was at one. First, though, I had to stop off at the store to get a gift for my "secret valentine" -- because my class decided this would be a good thing to do. I got a sample box of chocolates and a card with a smiley face on it. It cost less than three dollars, but that was still more than I was willing to spend. I need to conserve all my money for train tickets and, you know, to live. Despite my poverty, I still felt shame that mine seemed to be if not the cheapest, than one of the bottom two of everyone. Even though I am destitute. (On a that note, my father is bringing my prescription down to me on Sunday morning. I will beg for funds because I do not know shame or guilt.) My gift was a bar of candy that I didn't like, and a bag of "Veggie Twists" which actually is the sort of fruity new-age snack I'd go in for. Except the flavor - garlic and rosemary. ?!!?! So, after class I took the bus back to my room, unloaded some stuff and grabbed my pills and checked my emails. About 12 minutes total. Then I had to get another bus to go back to the other campus to work on the show. The bus was at the stop as I arrived. The EE. As I was *running up to and along side it* is when it started to pull away. I WAS RIGHT FUCKING THERE! As it leaves me there, hoping that the driver sees my extended middle finger in his rear view window, I look across the street to see the F bus also pulling away. So I had to stand at the bus stop for about 15 minutes. All this means that I had about 15 minutes to go to the dining hall and attempt to have food. The only thing that had that I could actually eat were dry chicken finger (no honey or honey mustard) of which I had about four. It was terrible. And that's all I've had to eat all day. Also, I've been very dehydrated (which I note as I suck back my last bottle of water). Then I get to the show! I soon find that I have not yet begun to be pissed off. Let me start a new paragraph.

So, I am running props. My duties include setting the props and some furniture that will be onstage, and arranging items off-stage that will be carried on by the actors. This can all be done before the show starts. During the show, I hand one thing to one person, take one thing from one person, and hold open a door. That's it. As I am backstage, I cannot watch the show. That's what tonight was supposed to be for. Tonight was the *crew watch*. That is the title of the evening. It's an opportunity for the crew to watch the show. But did I? Well, fuck no! Because the stage manager thought it would be a good idea for the prop people to "watch" the show from backstage. Even though none of our duties are even set as they are still changing things around. I did fuck nothing for an hour and 45 minutes. Absolutely nothing. I stood around being frustrated and bored and taking up space, and then pretending to be happy when the actors introduced themselves. I could not see the show and I could not hear the show. I only have a slightly better understanding of it than I did before. I HAVE NO CONNECTION TO THE SHOW. I don't even know what's fucking going on on the stage. So fucking frustrated and so fucking bored. It was torture, and it's going to be torture every fucking night.

What I could tell of the play was the following: not thirty seconds into it, there's a scene of simulated sex. The word "cunt" is used a great deal of times. This play was obviously written the day after the Sexual Revolution occurred. I don't know if you'd enjoy seeing it or not. There's a musical number at the end (there are musical numbers - it's weird) in which the ladies sort of ... heckle and insinuate upon the male members of the audience.

So, yeah. I had a fucking awful night. I barely know what's going on in the show. I have no connection to it, and my first impression of it is that it's a horrifically boring waste of my time. None of which I would have to feel right now if they had just let me *watch* the fucking show and feel connected to it. But no. Now the next three weeks of my life will suck a boatload of ass.

Email the second: Today (which is by now "yesterday") was also ten years since Karen died. I don't know if that contributed to my shitty day. I don't think it did, but then, as I discovered the other day when I was talking to Anita, we both have a lot of unresolved feelings about it. I meant to mention this somewhere in the other email. You don't have to make this its own reply. I don't know if I want to continue a discussion about it.

I think I'm going to see if I can get some sustenance from the vending machines in the basement. I might get a Coke, though it will surely fuck up my desperately needed sleep session.

Epilogue: I decided to get a bottle of water from the drink machine instead. It was 75 cents. I gave my money, pressed the button, and it pretended to vend. It accepted my money, but gave me no water. There were some chaps there playing that table-football game, so I couldn't even cry. Next, I made my way to the snack machine. It took my money gratefully, but every selection I made, though there was clearly a snack to be had, prompted the message "Make Another Selection". Every single one. So, dejected, I pushed the coin return and collected my change. Then I pressed my luck with the drink machine again, the fruit of which is the opened can of Coca~Cola now sitting in front of me.

Someone shoot me.