Feeling: silly
Listening to: Alison Krause - I'll Fly Away
Reading/Watching: nothing

I really shouldn't have had that drink at the coffee-house with Mini-Me after the show. They called it a Black and White, and it wasn't until after I'd received it that I realized it had coffee in it (the description intimated that "black and white" stood for chocolate syrup and whipped cream, but no: "black" meant double-shot of espresso).

Not only do I not like coffee, but I do not like its aftereffects. Now my feet are jittering under the table after midnight, and I could really use sleep, but my body will not hear of it.

Tonight was opening night. I spent the majority of it standing in the wings in my four-inch-heeled boots and stage manager blacks, watching Miller do the nervous-shimmy-dance on the opposite side while Othello, the Consummate Actor, sat quietly and got himself "centered." The audience hardly made a sound. It was meant to be a comedy; in this case, silence was not golden.

At least my boots were very fine for stomping elegantly off stage after I'd delivered my lines.

Today three dogs wandered in from the street, followed me to my car with tongues wagging, and when I opened my door, the black lab leapt into my passenger seat and looked at me expectantly. I could barely speak for giggling, and was loath to pull him out of the car and drive away. He was adorable, plopping his head in my lap under the steering column until I had to shove him away and shut my door, practically on his nose.

I want a dog.

Last night I went to see Bri, and she chattered like her usual magpie self, then stopped and asked, "What's wrong?"

It's disconcerting at times, how I can't smokescreen her with meaningless patter like most people. She senses what I'm not saying. What I don't even know I'm not saying.

And worse still, I couldn't tell her even once I knew what I was holding back. Because some things cannot be said between us anymore. Their inherent threat makes me sidestep, and the sidestepping is exhausting, and she knows it.

I don't know what I want to tell her. I don't know what I want. I think I want this, I think I want that. I don't want a placebo-relationship, but I do want someone to quiet these thoughts. Part of me wants to want someone in an effort to counterbalance the majority of me that wants a specific someone, and that majority wants that someone so bad it confuses the rest of me.

And this entry has run on for far too long. It was supposed to be cute anecdotes, not tangle-tongued prevaricating (which has become my favorite word for today, this week, this month, this year).

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