Oh my God.

I can't concentrate on more than one thing at a time. The SM and directing muscles are so copletely different; I can't do it simultaneously.

I didn't jump in directing-wise at all, but I think I need to ease myself into it. And by the way, I love the mind games and manipulation directors pull. It's awesome to watch, and I want to try it. Even if it looks/sounds like I don't want to, I REALLY, really do. For realsies.

P.S. Javi's pretty awesome and I love him.

You know it's been a bad day when I'm listening to fucking Kelly Clarkson covers.

shdjkhajkfhsakjhsakfhsdfkhdsjfsdhfjksfhdsjfkds

I'm blogging for fuck's sake. And procrastinating. Surprise.

It is scary that I am passing things on to absorbent little sponges and then watching my teacher spew her brains to mush.

Thought that should be known.

The people who attend my school are stupid and will carry on the Slow-Tech stigma until we all die. I hate them. Yes, all of them. Except for me and 45% of SPA.

You want to join the GSA, say you're 'bisexual,' and call things 'ghay?' You're an insipid douchebag. The meaning doesn't change because you added an H, you fucking ingrate. Go. fuck. yourself. You call me fat? You weigh more than me and can't tell the difference between 'your' and 'you're.' Lay off the nutella and skinny jeans, overachiever.

Oh, and by the way, when you wrote "Grammer fail! Hahahahhaazzzz" you spelled GRAMMAR wrong. Step it up, champ. Middlesex might not accept you.

I swear, I hope no one reads these but Aladren.

Wooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooi'mgonnabeasenior.

So I was googling N3RD and found a New Zealand college production. Makaela/Leslie fail. For realsies.

I like grapes and harmonies.

My hands are shaky.

I'm pretty sure I'm certifiably insane. No jokes, I need meds. Like, Bella-dosage meds.

My soul feels like it's been gang raped. This whole 'social interaction' thing the kids are talking about is a little too complicated for me. These highs and lows are making me very tense.

My lack of reading comprehension is scary. Hopefully, medication would help that. I mean, if I get one main point of a passage, I hang on to that for dear life. And then I am so incredibly knocked away. It's distressing.

MR. SCHUSTER, YOU ARE NOT BLACK. STOP IT.

Prod my brain with a sharp pokey stick. I fucking dare you.

I do not enjoy being creepy. At all.

Princesssssssss this shit up.

This is some shit.

Should I be blogging? I'll do it.

PG: 100 for PMing my movie, helping getting everything set up, and talking to both Brown and Dr. Mazz to get things set up for panel (Mr. Sac asked me about it today. Mr. fucking SAC. He me about this new technology that xbox is coming out with; like Wii to the extreme. It sounds awesome). And continuously being at 100% on the awesomeosity scale at all times.

I am not going to do any dramaturgy junk today just for the sheer fact that I think I deserve a break. Is that bad? Am I shitting on my work ethic? Fuck it.

I have so much to do. Literally, I'm in a whirlwind of flying feces---the feces being all of the crap I have to do. Pun definitely intended.

I want to go to college. I want to go to college. I want to go to college.

I'm fucking DONE with high school. I've overpaid my dues. I'm usually not this uppity about this kind of stuff, but I've done what I have to do. I love it at SPA, but I want to go to a place where people don't bring foghorns or are 14 and pregnant. I feel like I'm in a fucking...monkey pit or something. A pit of chimpanzees. Not to say that the entire school is full of ruhtards, but oh my God.

You'll find people like this everywhere, but it's still fun to hope you'll be somewhere different soon.

America's Next Top Model has changed. Sadness ensues.

I want more princess lessons.

I hope my teacher doesn't get sick.

I, I, I. Me, me, me.

Too late? Probably. Hopefully not on all fronts.

(First blog on the netbook, hollaheyha)

And WHAT is it with variety firing their theatre and film critics? Like, what?