So the rumor current is that she's gonna be in his Broadway production of Picnic.
And, this Our Town thing is just to get her feet wet.
Well, it's nice to know there's a plan.
I like plans.
But, I hate making them.
She was on Lifetime yesterday.
Some movie about Chinese babies.
Remember when that was the fad?
I prefer sit com actors on Broadway,
as a fad.
If you're going to time travel I recommend doing it on a Sunday.
If you're buying a news paper, or simply asking for a glass of water,
You have to stand in line.
We all have to wait in this world.
If we're not psychotic bitches, we'll get exactly what we want.
And no, we don't need anything.
I mean, nothing out of the pastry case that is.
If one is at a point where one needs a cinnamon swirl coffee cake,
One has an unhealthy relationship with food/reality,
And one should seek professional help immediately.
Oh, you don't need a cinnamon swirl after all?
Then use your words.
Please may I have a cinnamon swirl?
That'll just take half a bloody nano second you miss quoting rolling stoned hamster.
Yes, I just put your newspaper dollar in the tip jar.
Yes, I don't hate you.
It's just a show.
When you're coming up on two decades of painted stages.
One after the other, after the other, after they cut your solos in the eighth grade pageant,
After they wrote you up in considerable vocal crisis sophomore year of acting college,
After you made the speech at the Cherub banquet,
After they cast you as the messenger in Iphigenia junior year of high school,
When you wanted Iphigenia so bad you spent the night on the roof of your boarding house.
It gets hard to not take it seriously.
I want it to be good so bad I scratch my thighs to a pulp.
I heave over every dropped line and missed entrance.
And then I say that I don't care,
But I do.
That seems to be a pattern lately.
Saying one thing, but felling, and implying something entirely different.
I'm not mad.
The acting dragons would love that.
It doesn't really work for apartments and frozen pizzas though.
OK, the truth is I had a bad day.
The truth is I still don't know where my talent is, what I'm supposed to do, what one thing.
The truth is I don't like my face most of the time.
The truth is I'm afraid you'll move back to Ohio.
The truth is I have bad days.
And I miss you so much. I keep a picture of us dancing in the courtyard scotch taped underneath the shelf that's attached to my desk. When no one's home I lye on my back and stare at the two of us dancing. Me with my home perm and you with your lip stick. I usually prefer candid, but we knew.
I dream that you'll come to the show on a bad night and hug me hard, and tell me I was awesome, and no one noticed. And the we'd go out to eat.
I dream of no bad days.
I dream you'll find me on this tiny corner of the Internet, and know enough to still not dare to call or write.
I wake to forget you, love you.
Skin and Toast