So I'm here at the library again on Monday, this time to grab some addresses for packages that I need to send. In the process, I have a bag filled with a variety of things that I should probably use today - blank index cards, a pen, the copy of JONATHAN STRANGE that I'm almost finished with (yay). I've got it in my head that I should either spend the day making some headway in my apartment search or, at least, write something. I really, really think that I'd be better off in the long run if I fucking wrote something, though searching for an apartment is important. (I keep thinking I should do that with James, the future roommate.)
I had a date last week. If I'd not vowed to never blog about a date again, I would give details as to the look, shape and feel of the day I spent with the guy - not to be confused with the look, shape and feel of the guy. When there's something to say, I'll say it. In the meantime, I feel like using whatever inspiration comes my way to write something fictional again. I think I'd have more fun getting back to my imagination.
Played an improv show last week, and it felt pretty fantastic to do it. I was mostly comfortable onstage, trusted my scene partners and felt like I was playing to just have fun, which made the audience have fun. I told my stepmom yesterday that I played a Mafia hitman trapped in prison, and she just laughed at the thought of it. (This was cool, for all week I've still managed to think about how much better I could've done if I'd just given my character an accent, a physical affectation or more specifics. The character I played was cool, but, given the chance to play him again, I'd play him far differently.)
I want to just have fun without appearing to worry too much or try too hard.
I like Mondays like this at the library. It feels like pleasant routine.
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