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/ november is a month of ghosts

a grey knive lurking on the corner of the bathroom counter, incongruously balanced on the edge - just about to fall - the light of day leaked into the room like dish detergent being squeezed gently out of a bottle, and over in the corner, rats rustled in a paper bag. he walked into the room to the sound of the ceiling fan slowly misunderstood. his left sneaker squeaked slightly. paper in his pocket crumpled up and a blue crayon behind one ear. a muddy cigarette in one hand and no lighter. his eyes are silently stained-glass windows inside a church with no congregation, waiting for the hollow bellpulls - the doorbell of the Almighty. he takes out a sharpie and marks an x on the wall. moments later a fly buzzes fatly in and lands on the ��������������������������������������������spot, preening and humming to itself. below, at the baseboard, an ant trundles in. he looks at the mirror. he looks away. outside, a bird hits the window, and all things still, in hushed������������������������������������������mourning. an ignorant cricket looses a selfish mating call and
2003-09-03, 1:43 p.m.

shift_

��������� �����the crazy rock soundtrack of an average college life: whirring cars, dorm life, students walking to & fro with backpacks slung one-shouldered. gel in their hair, a swing to their ass-oriented step (if they're women), books clutched against their chests and with easygoing blank smiles to strangers passing by.

the intrafrastic passingsby - class, then walk. class, then walk. the day is pleasingly neutral, with a blue sky and a mild breeze. as though a scene slid from Perfect to This. the trees are green, with the undersides slowly burning. the temperature has stayed rock-steady at sixty-five fahrenheit all day. i am goal-oriented, quickfooted and sure. the first readthrough for macbeth is tonight. i have a backpack full of the scripts, which wasted so much paper i felt like a murderer. when the copier jammed, i instantly felt the blush of guilt slide into my face ...

the room is amazingly calm & laid-back. i'm even comfortable with the door open. across the hall i can hear jason singing and playing his keyboard. it's dim, but familiar, but not familiar enough to drive me crazy - this is a benefit. erin's particular voice rises in some frustration before tinkering down to a laugh. i suppose one reason i'm much more comfortable in this room is the immense presence of BOOKS. there are five bookshelves, and all of them are lined with books (or DVDs, in the case of the shelf behind the door - which i assembled myself!) that i love and am very familiar with. the light is natural and comfortable.

the soundtrack consists of the pleasing, aurally neutral dandy warhols singing "bohemian like you." a huge, open desk space for whatever i want. comfort in staying up until 3am, missing a class this morning and saying i forgot i was taking it and being totally excused. that felt good. but i think the work will catch up with me - in ten minutes i'm going to go do some boxoffice work for emmannuelle, for about three hours. ticking off what i'll have to do this semester: 1) stage manage macbeth, 2) direct a minimum of 4 scenes for directing class, 3) memorise & perform god-knows-how-many scenes for acting vi, 4) work in the boxoffice 12 hours a week, 5) write a full-length play, 6) maintain a fairly optimistic social life.

with the great little trip to borders last night with the always joyful kristin messana, to meet her brother jon and amanda fickett for coffee - pleased with the ever-rolling gears of life, for right now. that it will change is inevitable - i suppose now the challenge will lie in accepting the change and not yearning for the casual and subtle peace of this week.

shift into gear. it happened so smoothly this time. i wish it had happened this nicely when i was a freshman. on my way - i hear jason across the hall singing "go the distance" from the disney version of hercules.

i grin a little bit at the synchronicity of it.

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�SEH