is it sacrilege to say that i like jack white's cover of "love is blindness" better than the original? wait, i don't give a shit.

You turn me, you spin me 'round in circles; my brain is so dizzy it doesn't know up from down, and all you have to do is be yourself, over a hundred miles away, and not really care what I think. You are awesome, and I wish I knew you better. I have a slim chance, a shot at a far-away target with a patch over my good eye and gun with killer recoil, but it's a shot nonetheless, and I'll be damned if a bullet is wasted in the barrel.

As I was telling one of my best friends just moments ago, I'm "stressing out over one more little detail in this mental struggle with my emotions because everything else in my life is making me run at breakneck speed and I keep tripping over myself." I haven't been this kind of riled up over someone since my sophomore year of college.

I'm in a show that's opening this week. We just finished an eight-hour tech rehearsal and go into dress tomorrow and the goddamn horse head I'm supposed to dance in not only renders me half-blind, but won't stay on my head.

I'm still, technically, unemployed.

I start rehearsals for my first "professional" show next week and I'm not even sure I can afford all the bus fares it takes to get up there, let alone gas money for a carpool.

I still have to get the tires rotated on the car I drive.

I have to get a fucking spray tan by tomorrow because due to limited ethnic diversity in auditions (and limited attendance in dance auditions), they cast a girl with pale moon skin as a gypsy.

Because of my lack of funds, I doubt I'll be ready to move to Chicago in March. I doubt I'll be ready to move anywhere within the year at this point.

And the above makes me sad, because as much as I love my mother and my homebase and the friends I have who are still here, I despise this city. It's holding me in, and yes, paying off my loans first is a great priority, but why can't I do that somewhere where I WON'T feel like I'm stuck in the mud?

Gripe gripe gripe gripe GRIPE I know I KNOW but I want to scream like Jack White's guitar WHY CAN'T YOU JUST LIKE ME THE WAY I LIKE YOU THAT WOULD BE SO MUCH EASIER FOR ME TO NAVIGATE THE WRECKAGE THAT IS MY FIGURATIVE HEART THROUGH and now I'm just spewing words and feelings everywhere.

Although my throat is feeling better.

I need to start posting those creative writing tidbits again; those may help. But right now I am so tired I may collapse and I still need to brush my teeth.

Please tell me you at least think about me. That maybe you have those little half-dreams, those small fantasies, right before you fall asleep, too. If you ever sleep these days.