Damn my makeup looks on-point tonight. It takes about an hour no matter what. So, for the last show, I'm glad it's going to be looking okay. Smooth jazz. While they're playing, setting up for the filming. 35 minutes 'til mic check. Haven't done much all day except play The Sims. It's my personal morse code SOS of IHATEMYLIFE. Except, of course, I don't. I do. I shouldn't. The fuck would make me happy? It's a real "Waters of March" situation. I mixed clary sage and lavender togthter and it smells like a barn. It's hay. I guess I never thought about it before. Maybe I'd just always assumed that the musty undertones of smell were dung and sweat. Nope. Just the smell of dried grass and flowers. It reminds me of the summers I hauled hay on the farm. Not really a happy time of life either. I was trying to remember a time when I was happy and...I can't. I should stop trying to. But between the smooth jazz and smells I can't help it. Am I really supposed to spend the rest of my life trying to build the happy universe I imagined my childhood to be? That's horrifying. These things I love and love deeply have a lot of power. But why should they? Frustrating. It seems like I'm trying to distract myself. But from what? Are the distractions really the business of living? I used to believe they were. Details, minutiae were everything. Now...what great meaning do Tumblr posts and Sims and Skyrim, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, and wrestling have? I'm depressed, but I don't really have a way of communicating that. Let the business of living wash over me and try to keep nose and mouth above water line. Buffy in the musical. Ecclesiastes. Like, is it a matter of just following the yellow brick road. And what about the voice that tells me to slow, rest, stop, not bother. That's the same voice that feels shame, regret. And my joy is so often just...absent. It has this vibe, like, one of those absentee moms. Barely there. Sweeping in with stories of where she's been. What could be.
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