When I get an eye exam, I want to tell the optometrist that I can see better, even when I can’t based on the inflection I hear in their voice. I can tell when they want it to be better, so I don’t want to disappoint them.
I do the same thing with therapists sometimes. A good one can see me doing it and call me out. A bad one will just act like a cheerleader and tell me how well I’m doing.
I crave connection with an audience, which is hard to do with a total of 10 minutes on stage and no time spent directly interacting with them.
What do I do about that? Well, I don’t know yet.
I do know that Defunkt Theatre’s production of “In the Forest She Grew Fangs” was pretty fantastic, though. I have some nitpicks and Katie brought up some interesting critiques of the narrative, but I was thoroughly moved and impressed.
I am so aware of not using my size to intimidate people that sometimes I’m actually unaware of it.
Until some tiny hipster who failed to yield for an emergency vehicle hits my car and then gets out of his car being all defensive, I guess.
Halloween was a rare night off. I spent it recharging batteries.
I continue to be dramatic and idealistic.
Also, I’ve been reading a lot of Bernie Wrightson comics lately. I think it shows here.
On the one hand, I appreciate the ways in which sports can bring people together.
On the other, as incredibly self-involved as I may be, there is nothing I give a shit about that I assume random passers-by on the street give enough of a shit about to tell them about it, unprovoked and unasked.
Physician, heal thyself.
“I’m too scared to face this.”
“I’m too weak to face this.”
Lies that are very easy to believe.
Dreams can speak volumes.
This was the oldest I ever felt in my entire life.