Why
So this play. Cast of nine. opne close friend, one casual friend and 6 acquaintances. rehearsal time for me - 3hrs a day. rehearsal time for them, 1.5 to 2 hours a day. commuting distance for me: 10km each way. which means that if im out and in the area an hour before rehearsal i dont bother to go home. it means i miss dinner, and get home at 11.00pm atleast thrice a week. commuting distance for them: 5 min at a slow walk from the hostel. joy i get from play: -982364. Stress i get form play: about 70% of all current stress. commitment shown by all but 3 people: well if i havent anything better to do i might just saunter on and mumble my lines. and just because you;re the director dont think i have to listen to you or owe you any respect.
why am i doing this? because the one close friend says its the onyl good thing in her life. fair enough. but then, especially on a day like today, i wonder why they fuck i have to be the one to put so muhc into her having a good thing in her life? extreme bitchiness, of course, for a gazillion reasons. but still. i know for a fact theres atleast one other good thing in her life.
it was supposed to be the good thing in my life. but then i find myself sitting in a largely faintly hostile group of people who ostensibly care what i have and want me there because they need a director and noone on campus is willing to take responsibility. i find myself tired and frustrated and on the verge of tears. almost every day. every evening. yes some of you are committed. but the rest arent. and i do not have the strength to force them. especially when they will not listen to what i have so say and then question precisely what i have answere din the part they question. when they presume on fragile friendship to blatantly ignore every SINGLE request i have REPEATEDLY made in terms verging from friendly and funny to angry and upset. i fond myself going to palce that is cold and empty and alien, that stands as symbol for all that is a wrong with my life and my choices. every day.
and driving home i find myself asking: why?
why am i doing this? because the one close friend says its the onyl good thing in her life. fair enough. but then, especially on a day like today, i wonder why they fuck i have to be the one to put so muhc into her having a good thing in her life? extreme bitchiness, of course, for a gazillion reasons. but still. i know for a fact theres atleast one other good thing in her life.
it was supposed to be the good thing in my life. but then i find myself sitting in a largely faintly hostile group of people who ostensibly care what i have and want me there because they need a director and noone on campus is willing to take responsibility. i find myself tired and frustrated and on the verge of tears. almost every day. every evening. yes some of you are committed. but the rest arent. and i do not have the strength to force them. especially when they will not listen to what i have so say and then question precisely what i have answere din the part they question. when they presume on fragile friendship to blatantly ignore every SINGLE request i have REPEATEDLY made in terms verging from friendly and funny to angry and upset. i fond myself going to palce that is cold and empty and alien, that stands as symbol for all that is a wrong with my life and my choices. every day.
and driving home i find myself asking: why?
posted by MinCat at 10:47 PM
3 Comments:
hehehe maybe in delhi. here it wasnt that gorgeous. tho its luffly now.
when i tlakl to her she goes into no no no ill die without the play no no no and the like and it just makes me alittle bit sick. anyway. lessee.
Wellllll..... You could do that thing that men do wen they want you to break up with them! Become the most irresponsible director, be mean and distant, forget birthdays and anniversaries, have sex with people outside the play etc etc.
Works everytime! Ive tried it!
ya know babe i thought about that but here be the problems: 1. they wont notice. 2. i HATE doing a job badly. 3. id still be wasting time and effort and energy.
Post a Comment
<< Home