I'm sorry. I know it's wrong of me. I'm upset at all of you for having fabulous lives, and making wonderful decisions about where you're going, and loving where you are in life. I'm not there. It's petty and selfish and uncalled for and wrong and stupid and annoying and qu'est-ce-que fuck of me, but it's what I've been feeling ever since I read all of your newest blog posts.
Why does Alathariel have to go move to England and be with her lovah whom she loves and has hot sex with? Why did she have to leave me for Vancouver where she auditioned for lots of shows and was smart with money and lost weight and got healthy? Couldn't she have stayed in Toronto and waited for me to come back from Ottawa? Couldn't she stay poor and miserable? Couldn't she wait for me to come back so that she continue be my muse in comedy and musical theatre endeavours? Doesn't she want to run a theatre company with me where we break the boundaries of type casting? Doesn't she want to be my comedy partner? Doesn't she want me to make theatre of all kinds just so that I can have the intense pleasure of watching her perform as often as possible?
Why does Neenia have to tease me by returning to me only to leave again and move to a city that I no longer live near? Doesn't she want to share a tiny bed with me and perform [title of show] all the time and bounce around the apartment for an hour or two? Doesn't she want to watch So You Think You Can Dance with me and have mini orgasms over and over as some sexy man dances some sexy way? Why can't she just stay here and make me laugh and run lines from Grease 2 with me and sing Rent with me and dream about living in New York with me?
Why does Arts Monkey have to come to terms with her age for? I'm turning her age soon and I'm not comfortable with it. Why is she? Why does she have to be living with her folks? That's my schtick. Does she have to be pursuing theatre right now? Does she have to go to Mexico? Why can't she just come live on the Danforth and teach pilates like I'm doing? I don't teach pilates, but still.
What's Bedroom Prince gotta go relocate to a new city where he doesn't know anyone for? Why's he gotta get his PhD? Why can't I do something life altering like that?
Why do I have to be sitting in sublet after sublet, watching my bank account dip further and further into the red, as my credit card bills sit unpaid for months. How come I have two jobs and no money? Why does no one care to dine out downtown anymore? Why does my mother have to keep giving me money every time I ask for it? Why do I have to keep asking for it? It's embarrassing. Why don't I pursue a career in theatre? Shouldn't I submit myself for all the shows I hear about that are auditioning? Can't I just bother to get off my ass and clean and organize my apartment for that I can find my headshot so that I can get some work? Shouldn't I be going out and meeting boys? Must I sit at home all the time and only date the ones who ask me out that I'm not interested in until it fizzles out and I end up not dating them anymore by losing contact rather that actually breaking up.
I'm sorry to have invited you to my pity party. I swear I'm not actually in that bad a place. I just didn't like your blogs because I miss you like fucking crazy and I worry that I'll never get to live alongside you again. Me no likey. You'll have to forgive me if I'm not nice to you for a few days. All this news at once was too hard to swallow. I'm whiney. I'm Skinny Winehouse. I'm not even witty.
hough, I'm loving it. I feel so nice and free when I'm riding through the city on two wheels. I can be a vehicle or a pedestrian, depending on what best suits my needs at any given moment. But I biked to and from work today for the first time and I have to say I'm not loving the developing thunder thighs and chaffing of my mangina.
