uh, do you guys know... where... where it says what stop we're at?

So Elyse and I went and saw "Altar Boyz"'s penultimate show last night. I can't believe, first of all, that it's taken me THIS long to see it. But see it we did (for free) and both, horrified and fantastically amused, loved it. Elyse fell hard for Matthew's voice (they have a mutual friend, too) and I was lost in daydreams of Abraham. Didn't help that he left the theatre after the show looking all cleaned up and purdy with a Gap shopping bag and a guitar case slung across his back. Seriously. 

We thought we were going to leave "Altar Boyz" and go meet our friends at a different theatre, halfway up the Red Line, for a show one of our friends was playing for. After much ado about trying to get there properly (don't ask) we got there with minutes to spare only to find out the show was sold out and there had been a miscommunication with our friend's brother, who was supposed to get us tickets. Discouraged, upset, cold, tired and more, we trudged out of the theatre and back to the Red Line.

The night was not over yet.

We got on the Red Line, only to discover several stops later that someone near us in the car was about to... nope... in the process of vomiting. Hurriedly, we got up and moved to a new car. Sitting down, we found that there was not-yet-dry vom on the floor across from us, and a man was forcing his fingers into his female companion's mouth nearby. We got up and moved to a new car. No vom, no hand-feeding, but a stench of cotton candy. (As for all the vom, I blame the pope for changing St. Patrick's day, which I totally disagree with. It's most inauspicious to have done so, pope. You see all the bad things that happened?)

We retired to Elyse's dorm for a rousing viewing of "Muppet Treasure Island" and then went home from there, probably a bit later than we should have (but we were angry enough about all of the other mishaps that it didn't matter).

Now? We have rehearsal. At 10. For God only knows how long. And tonight? Gaelic Storm. I can only pray the day gets better.

you may travel far but love's never lost...

The guppy is dead. I flushed it. I think. I hope it went down, and didn't like... swim back up the pipe or anything. Long live the tiger shark. Fuck all of this goofy, immature, non-communicative bullshit. I am better than that. Peace.

I believe in Harvey Dent. Do you? 

Spring break hasn't been very springy... nor too much of a break... but I'm hoping that its positive effects will be longer-lasting than I expect them to be.

My brother (a very talented artist of sorts) and I may or may not be in talks to collaborate on a graphic novel of sorts. We may or may not be discussing plot points and character sketches. Do not be fooled; nothing is settled upon yet.

I may or may not also be discreetly looking away as THoR piddles about and may or may not be working on other exciting new novels right now when I should be editing the first. I may or may not have two or more ideas in the works already. Oops?

I bought a new journal; my Harlequin (the second volume of my official Journals) is almost full. I have been journaling since I was very young, but two years ago a friend bought me a very nice expensive leatherbound journal and ordered me to record my eloquence in its proper place. That volume was called Eloquence as a result. When it filled, I purchased the Harlequin, a larger, patchworked colored-leather version of the first. Now it is almost full, and I have my third volume which remains to be christened. It is soft suede-leather, robin's egg blue, with lovely etchings in it. I'm smitten with it already; a bad/good omen. I must finish Harlequin, though, before the next one is sworn in, as it were. Someday these journals will be published. They are sometimes vague, sometimes poetic, sometimes straightforward, sometimes deeply personal. They span all the gaps. But I love them. They are my sanity. They are my prayer books. My reassurances.

I need to find jobs for the summer. I need to make money. I need to get cast in things that will pay. I need to press on. I need to publish. I need to sleep. I need to be effortless. I need to be invincible. Someday, maybe I will be. For now, I really just need to sleep. Eff.