futurebird's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- the hillman A bit of space before my next class. History of Drama: "towards modernism" Today we'll talk about the visit Read it in a half-hour earlier today. A good play the government inspector meets the lottery. Wow. Everyone says that students at carnegie mellon "work so hard." I think the students down the road at pit work harder. I was there the other week. At the hillman library. Light as air after a run of the show. Doing some research on MABAU, an avant gardish theater group from the 80s. In the hillman all of the students were gripping their brows. So serious over their books, gazing blankly into the pages as if it would help. It was quiet, nothing like the library I'm in now. Here, little conversations are buzzing all over. The people who read read casually lopped over the edge of their chairs making vague notes with a free hand. There is an energy at pitt of forced concentration. I wanted to scream. "It won't work! You'll never learn it if you don't love it!" Arrogance. How do I know what will work for them? I don't. I'm nervous about my run this weekend. I don't want to fail. I need to look at the map again. 30 miles is no joke --and that's sinking in. But in some ways I feel like I could run it today . . . I'm excited about packing my lunch and a smoke (yes I plan to take a smoking break, don't tell me that that makes no sense I'll be gone for at least 4 hours . . . there are stranger things. Jesus!) If I don't run the whole way I going to promise not to beat myself up too much. The art of when to say "good enough" is so hard. It never is. (good enough, that is) I hope that I dream tonight. I sleep like a rock or not at all. I miss having dreams, even the nightmares. Maybe the sleep would come more easily if I didn't spend the whole day lost in fantasies. Break down each little occurrence into a thousand shades of meaning then obsessing over the impact of what I say and what I do. Maybe there is nothing left to sort out by the time the day is done and so my subconscious sees no point in dreaming . . . nah! It's just the weather. I'm certain. Really. 21:47:49 - 2001-02-15 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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