Depth of fecal matter.

I've never had so much responsibility thrown at me at the latest last second before. I handled it fine, but now I've become a pawn of the theatre department. Friends mock me for it, I hate myself for it. They use me for it. Theatre people always say that theatre sucks you in, and I find that true. But they should occasionally stop after saying "theatre sucks..." Sometimes, it does. Sometimes, you wish you were at home painting or singing or sewing or anything but running a god damn board full of sliders for 3 hours of each night that week. Missed opportunities, late arrivals, new friends, solid experience. How shall I describe this mess?

No one will lend an ear to my rants or pleas. Everyone too busy to help me to understand Never being able to get close to that one friend, who you just wish you would have seen once more, or sat closer to, or hugged twice, before the storm brews in the theatrical pot we've been poured into.

A key was placed into our sides, and they twist it-- for fun. Their own amusment. They think its harmless, but toying with people's lives and relationships and causing dramatic episodes where they needn't be, is not what I would call harmless.

One more month. And what do I have to show for it. What will be there when new classes start? A new friend? or foe... An advisor, or advisary... True, a few flames have been lit and will remain burning for a longer time than others, but which will prevail.

I know this is either boring or makes no sense. Who cares.
To someone, it might mean the world.