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Doesn't everyone hate those days locked half between awake and dreaming? I feel like I'm watching the world as a movie, not quite in it. CB once said that was usually related to how much sleep a person gets the night before, but I went to bed at midnight last night, woke at 9:30 for breakfast, took some cold medicine, and promptly fell back asleep for another two hours. So how does that relate?

Maybe it's the cold. My throat isn't as painfully scratchy anymore (it used to feel like I had a round, sharp-bristled hairbrush down there that twisted when I coughed) but now my nose is delightfully (note sarcasm) snuffed up, with headaches and other abominations included.

I need to listen to this Wallflowers CD more often. Except I take issue with that song lyric: "God don't make lonely girls." I beg to differ, dahlink. Hee hee, it's almost laughable, now that I think about it. And No Doubt has been relegated to the bottom of my CD pile. Gwen Stefani gets frinkin' (borrowed that word from Dork Sis Mildred) annoying after a bit.

I feel I'm living today in a cave, with the lights off, the blinds drawn, and one single scented candle glowing across the room. Reminds me of the solitude I used to relish when I had a good book to read. Only now my books are read, and I don't think I'm in the frame of mind to handle Nic's copy of One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest.

Tomorrow I seek out a 1-penny copy place. I need a place that only charges one or two cents per page, because DCMI is massive (206 pages, including cover sheet) and I need to make three or four copies, depending on whether I intend to wrap one up for my old english teacher as the definitive homemade Christmas gift. While printing out the entire monstrosity, I kept lightly touching the pages and thinking in awe, "I did this."

My roommate was chattering excitedly with me about how it would be when she could have an autographed copy and show it to everyone. She says my optimism has rubbed off on her. She says she learned things from my philosophy and I can only stare at her and wonder what the hell she's talking about. I'm not... happy... all the time, am I? Sure, when people ask about the singing competition I went to, I say, "I sang well, and got some great constructive criticism, but didn't advance to the next round, so next year I'll do better." Do they know how many times I rehearsed that in the mirror to keep from looking bitter? I wonder how it's possible to change someone's life when you can't even change your own.

Weird.

Well, a new play is coming to town. My university is planning on performing The Cherry Orchard once Agnes of God is done. I looked up the script online and it's a story of a once-wealthy Russian family that has fallen into debt and faces the loss of their land and heritage. I like it, despite the bittersweetness, and have my eye on the elder adopted sister of the family, Varya. I could never be the matriarch, Lupov, because hers is the main part and I'm not a leading-role type gal. I couldn't be the young beautiful sister Anya, because... well. That should be obvious. But I could be Varya. She's 27. An old maid. Waiting on one man's proposal for four years, and there's no sign of its coming. She's protective, sweet, emotional, often forced to be the practical caretaker despite her own inclinations. I really like her. And she's not a very major role, which makes things easier for me.

More details on how that goes later.

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