Oh, I Am Not Quite Sleeping. Oh, I Am Fast In Bed.

The play "Burn This" by Lanford Wilson is one of the most brilliant pieces I’ve read in a while. Being inspired is addicting. I think it’s why acting continues to interest me. It seems endless. It is endless. And, in turn, I feel endless. Right now, anyway.

Not immortal.

I feel completely mortal. I love being a human these days.

My best friend at school and I have put up a show. We did a two person musical for our senior project. It was only a one night thing, but a lot of people have told us we should just take it to the city. I say nay. It seems backwards, but there is something so strong in me telling me to wait. Telling me to move into my new place and get a small job. That I need desperately to establish where I will be physically, and that my time is out there, no rush. For some odd reason, the future only excites me. Even with seven hundred dollar a month student loans to begin paying back fairly soon.

I wake in the morning and I am always slightly swollen. My hands, my neck. My brain feels like it doesn’t fit my skull anymore. I get hot, angry headaches and I am constantly pushing through minor physical barriers that reside between myself and my potential. It’s not all that bad, just distracting.

My emotions are terribly accessible and floating along the surface right now. Probably why I ended up here, writing. Which I don’t really do anymore. Between last night’s complete and utter release of putting about a year of work into a one night engagement and going through extensive rehearsals that force me to think unthinkable thoughts, I feel somewhat vulnerable and have trouble pulling myself out after I am back in my room and in bed.

It scares me to know what I am capable of.

It scares me to realize how much I love doing what I do. Actually, I can’t even classify it as love anymore. It’s hungrier than that. The things I’d push out of my life in order to make room to succeed and fulfill this want are probably embarrassing. It’s selfish, no question. And obsessive. It feels athletic in a way – presistently pushing myself further each day. Ambition seizes me and I start to worry because I never, ever want to stop working. And I may hit a wall. And it could momentarily crush me.

I feel so silly. I am supposed to be jaded by now.

But the truth is

I can’t fucking wait.