(It is 2:15 am and

(It is 2:15 am and I can’t go to sleep. I stayed online until about 12:30. IM’ed with Ron till 11:30. Timmy was online too – he wants to be friends again – we were never really friends in the first place – he still blames me for stealing Richard from him even though Richard gladly dated me – no one steals or seduces anyone from anything that is such complete and utter bullshit and it drives me nuts. I am manic right now. I can’t sit still. I’m sorting the laundry I did on Wednesday now and trying to get it all put away but I know that I won’t get it done. It is times like this that I am most like my father. Up at night and unable to sleep – obsessing about what hasn’t happened yet. What we were supposed to have done by now. Of all the things and opportunities and chances that we have missed and thrown away or been to scared to explore. I am enveloped in fear sometimes. It is insane. I’m supposed to be up in three hours to go to the gym and workout. I feel crazed right now. I think of all the things that I was supposed to have accomplished by the Fall of 2001 and entering into winter. And the list just gets longer the more that I think about it. I was supposed to have started a personal coaching practice by now. Along with completing a novel and some plays and some screen plays and getting my SAF and AFTRA cards and having a voiceover demo tape and have been out of debt and had mutual funds figured out and arranged and in place and mature financial policies in order. I was supposed to be really buff by now and modeling and not having anxiety attacks anymore. I was supposed to have gotten over so many things that still loom large in my life – things that I know I will just pass through again and again. I keep thinking about having kids and being so worried that no one will like them. What do you do when your kid comes home and cries all night because no one likes him? I think of my classmate Nicole and her great success and how jealous I am and how I try to metabolize that into proof that It Can Be Done. But I have so many Its that I want to do. And what if no one wants to play with my kids? What if they get chosen last all the time for the team like I was? I vow to give birth to super-human kids: athletic and academic and artistic… sons and daughters with strong bodies and quick minds – kids that don’t take shit off the assholes that slap them on the forehead their freshman year in high school and tell them to stop crying even though they aren’t. That if I have a husband and my kids get told that their fathers are fucking faggots that they tell little Susie Slutstick and Greg Jockstrap they’re cunts and summon some serious Van Damme-age. Clarity is madness. Realizing that this thing you call a dayjob is just settling. That surrounding yourself with people who aren’t striving makes it a lot more difficult for you to do so as well. That it’s not bad enough to leave but it’s not good enough to stay. But what do you do when a war is coming to a theatre near you and the economy is in the shit-hole and you missed the boat on the internet boom you should have been there and sucked the bastards dry like everyone else and you still wonder if you’l ever get lucky whatever the hell that means and who the hell wants to put up with these mood swings for the rest of their life? And this crazy live theatre thing and where does it belong and no one really cares about it and it is just a useless relic that is out of touch and too expensive to produce and be viable and useful. And I’ve already figured out that when the Sears Tower goes down that I’m running east and then north. I could be home in an hour if I can run fast enough. If I can get out of my own building.)






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