Days Of Plenty.

I went home three weekends ago. The drive was long and lit by day the whole way through. Interstate 80 was in its prime – this has been the best fall I’ve seen since I’ve lived on Long Island. Even the unsettling heaviness and drear of today seems fine against the shouting leaves, and I will pull my hood tight around my face on the short walk to class, though it is not raining. My father updated my cell phone that weekend and now I have a fancy piece of technology in my possession. I am not much for phones and I hate being around people who are, but I have to admit that having a tiny camera in my pocket is thrilling for whenever the sky bruises as night comes. I’ve gotten few good ones out of the thousands I’ve taken, but I like to try. The sky is not photogenic with such a meager eye.

I finally miss the city. I’d like to go back and try again now that the pavement won’t cook me and the sun rarely is seen.

I am so east coast it’s disgusting.

I’ve been busy. I am assistant directing the main stage musical, and it’s been very good for me. I feel somewhat sharper and smarter than I ever have, and perceptive. Having a sense of authority and guidance to my peers helps to feed the control freak inside of me that gets restless watching student theatre. This position forces me to sit still and listen out of my own interest and not because anyone is standing over me, eyeballing my fidgeting body. My only worry is that because I spend so much time dissecting scripts, delivery and actor interaction that I will become one of those actors who takes acting ever so seriously. I become a little obsessed. It’s still a miracle to me that anything in the world can actually fascinate me.

But I do miss performing. Next semester will be a big one, I hope with all my might, not to mention my last. Thank god.

I count the days until Christmas. I want my winter cold and to wipe the snowflakes out of my boyfriend’s eyelashes. I want the hassle of treking into the city late one night and freezing down to our bones in Rockafeller center, being swamped by tourists and wanting to leave quickly. I want to hold Adam’s gloved hand in my own and watch him open presents. I want every day of December to be mine.