nocut

Met the lovely Tiree today.

Goose poo was involved. Older men on electric carts swooned (but mainly over Ballou.) I was a sweat factory.

It was marvelous.

Now, I'm going home, putting my head as close as possible to the fan, and making like Darth Vader.

Sweet dreams.

I can't pass this off as mine... but I nearly peed when I read it, so here we go, a little pre-fab side-split from yours truly to the gang at SG.

I'm just going to get to the meat of this conversation...

Man do I love fuckin' Brunch with a mad freaky passion. Seriously, what meal is better? You might try tossing a few suggestions...
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Push.

Gear up. Wind in my face. Legs moving now. A solitary experience, one that allows me time with my thoughts. Double-edged sword, that.

Dad thoughts. (Pedal harder.) Job thoughts. (Pedal harder.) What about the future? (Faster.) I've got nothing to eat at home. (Push.) God, I want to taste a woman's inner thigh. (Faster, faster.)

Top gear now. Legs screaming. Breath coming in ragged...
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'evening, all.

So, it's official. I'm working on a touring Shakespeare-in-the-Park show this summer. I'm the LD / TD, and we're touring right across Ontario. I'm pretty fucking chuffed, let-me-tell-You!

Good shows, too. A Winter's Tale, and Complete Works. A full-equity cast, which is fucking weird, since I never work a union gig. Still... I'll take their money. It all spends the same, no?

Woo-hoo!...
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She said it was just a figment of speech
And I said "You mean figure" And she said "No, figment"
Because she could never imagine it happening. But it did

When we first met I played the Shy boy
When she spoke to me for the first time my nose began to bleed
She guessed the rest

The next day we went on a bus...
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Went for my daily bike ride today down by the bay. Beautiful day. I usually do 35km, but it was so nice today I did another three laps... so... 49km? I guess that's right. The way my legs are screaming at me, it feels right.

So there was a girl on the trail today. (Isn't there always?) I recognized her -- she must be a...
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I went home this weekend.

See, it should be a festive, positive, relaxing thing, but I dread going home sometimes. I feel suffocated, impotent, unable to function. If I could just shut down all of my senses and receivers, it would be bearable. But I can't, so it isn't.

Have you ever heard your father crying in the dead of night? I have. Pain so...
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I used to be a gearhead, I swear. I went to school to study technical theatre -- it was almost part of the package to concern myself with the latest gadgetry. I had the computer (desktop, and laptop) the palm pilot (Are they still called palm pilots? Or are they 'blackberries' now?) the cellphone, CD, TV, Mp3, blah, blah, blah.

Something happened along the way....
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I missed a day in my journal. 30 lashes with a wet noodle for me.

My friend Megan says that I should write. Keep a journal to put the shit in my head down on paper. The idea being that I won't twist myself in knots with guilt / grief / worry / insecurity, if all of that shit is down on paper, instead of...
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go visit Rob and Ramon at butternutsquash.net -- they're really nice guys.