I don't know what it is about open spaces at night, when the air is just cold enough for you to notice. The soft buzz of halogen lights and the hum of cars in the distance. The huge interstate signs that never seem that big from your car. I don't know if it's freedom to me, but I know that I get more excited about tomorrow when I'm leaving than when I'm staying.

Happy Birthday, Emily Jane!

So I saw this dead bird the other day, and I thought it looked kinda gross, with all the ants around it and stuff. I thought, "how unnatural." Then I had to correct myself, had to look at the neat, orderly rows of houses, the short fences around the short trees, all of the cars and realize that however pretty and clean and sterile this is, it is this bird, with it's intestines being eaten by ants, that is natural.

I've always tried to refrain from using the word 'best' when talking about my friends, 'cause, as a rule, they've usually sucked pretty bad.

Thoughts jumbling, thoughts tumbling, thoughts crumbling. I don't think I'm drunk so much as tired with some rum in me. With some pain in my foot, the city reminding me that it's bigger than I am, that it can (and did) hurt me. To remind me that you might always hurt the ones you love, but more that you'll hurt the one's that love you. I don't find it depressing or even sad. I think it's how it is. Even if nature is wrong, how could I begin to know what is right?

So I was working a show last night and I was offered a free warm Coors Light, which I declined. I was then told I needed to learn the stage crew motto:

If it's wet; drink it.

If it's dry; smoke it.

If it moves; fuck it.

If it doesn't; load it on the truck.

RYAN: You have a lot of friends far away from here that are girls.
JOSH: I have a lot of friends here that are girls.
RYAN: So why don't you make them more than friends?
JOSH: Jason, if you could use one word to describe my current relationship with Kelsey what word would you use?
JASON: Um, she's pretty pissed.
JOSH: Well what about grace?
JASON: She's pretty pissed, too.
JOSH: Well there you have it.
RYAN: But I can't imigine anyone ever being pissed at you.
JOSH: It's funny, but I feel the same way.

It became clear that if I was to continue playing Vampire, that would require hanging around with the sort of people who played Vampire, which is something I think we all want to avoid.

-Tycho

Why should I not? I mean, I try to return a phone call, and instead, I get in the background conversation, the sound of your voice while I am talking to some drunk girl that is trying to cover for you. That's fucking bullshit. the best excuse was, "I think he's having sex with some girl." What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Especially since the first thing I heard was you saying: "Here you answer this." My opinion of guys is solely based on those of whom I have had contact. Way to do your part. I try and fucking return a fucking call to an old friend whom I think that I am growing (somewhat) closser to and instead I am ignored and insulted. Fuck that. Oh, and if I haven't said it (or implied it) already, fuck you.

-Sammi Dawson

There is one vice of which no man in the world is free; which every one in the world loathes when he sees it in someone else; and of which hardly any people ... ever imagine that they are guilty themselves. I have heard people admit that they are bad-tempered, or that they cannot keep their heads about girls or drink, or even that they are cowards. I do not think I have ever heard anyone who was not a Christian accuse himself of this vice. And at the same time I have very seldom met anyone ... who showed the slightest mercy to it in others. There is no fault which makes a man more unpopular, and no fault which we are more unconscious of in ourselves. And the more we have it ourselves, the more we dislike it in others. The vice I am talking of is Pride or Self-Conceit.

-CS Lewis; Mere Christianity

Happy Birthday, Milica Kozomara!

New life rule: Do not sit on the back of the Hell's Angel's bike; especially if he's sitting on the front at the time.

My plan had always been to just say yes to all of the work that came my way and somehow, whenever the bills came in, I was able to pay them. It was nice that way. Hopefully this plan will still be viable. We'll see.

Marla shouts to the police that the girl who lives in 8G used to be a lovely charming girl, but the girl is a monster bitch monster. The girl is infectious human waste, and she's confused and afraid to commit to the wrong thing so she won't commit herself to anything.

"The girl in 8G has no faith in herself," Marla shouts, "and she's worried that as the grows older, she'll have fewer and fewer options."

Marla shouts, "Good luck."

-Chuck Palahniuk; Fight Club

This passage reminded me of grace.

I can't remember the last time I moved around the bed when I was sleeping.

I am computer stupid.

I'm about to go into a transient time in my life. Hopefully I'll be writing some beat poetry.

I'm packing up the office, as it is. Tossing all of the papers that I thought I might need and now know for certain that I'll never have to look at again. Keeping all of the things that won't make any sence to me two weeks from now. It's a cleansing process. I'm happy to be going; excited about leaving. I'm somewhat melancholy, but I know the life I'm living here is a house built on a foundation of sand, it's not lasting. I love that aspect of it anyway. I'd rather go while I still feel something, some tug of remorse rather than watch everything fade leaving me somewhat bitter and regretful. Chicago, Chicago, here I come.

If you only call me when you're drunk that will be enough for me. That will be more than enough for me.

It's two o'clock in the morning. Do you know where your lighting desinger friends are?

I just got a phone message, "It's about eleven, I guess you're sleeping." Which, I have to say is a nice thought, but I'm in tech, I'm never sleeping. It's like four days of being back at school. I know I did semesters like this, which, damn. Then again, I wasn't designing shows on the same time crunch, but rather going to class and working with Corey or PPS or whatever. Which usually meant that, yes, each day was long but self contained. When that day ended the problems of that day usually ended with it. The show opens tomorrow, and I should be ready to open, and drink, of course.

Too many dots. Too much coke.

I got into my car this afternoon and it was so hot that my glasses fogged up.

Someone stole my top. What the fuck?

Oh, found it. Never mind. Sorry. My bad.

I've been having some soft and tender thoughts recently. Today, for example, as I was just starting to focus You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown (a one hundred light show that I focused in two and a half hours, that's an average of two minutes a light; not sure if that's good or not, but I'm going to start keeping count) I began to think about my freshman year at NIU when I was living in Douglas Hall and Chris was well on the way to becoming the institution in my life that he is today. It was spring, I think, the sun was out and the memory feels very much like there was cold before and we were happy to finally be able to leave without wearing a coat. One of those lazy afternoons that I love so much when you don't have to feel like there's something you should be doing but rather just have good company and are able to sit around and say, "What do you want to do?" Madeline was in town and we walked over to Stevenson. Boy I don't think I've been back to that side of campus since freshman year, it being so far away when you live in (or across the street from) Neptune. We had lunch, sat and talked and laughed. I wasn't worried about tomorrow, wasn't constantly planning and scheming for the future, wasn't tired at all. Now I'm not saying I'm longing for that moment now, or that I feel I've somehow lost something I once had, but it was a nice warm feeling as I was looking at my dirty, callused and aching hands.

Back in black. Baby! last.

Resemble: The Reese Mobile

Damn that was one hell of a storm.

So he woke me up "Josh!" and I mumbled something, not fully there, and suddenly "She's having another heart attack!" and I was awake, perhaps more fully than I've been awake in a long while, more suddenly for sure. I'm up the stairs, I'm pulling arms, holding hands, moving past this and that, around this corner and though this door. I'm running around a truck, opening the door, lifting into the seat. I'm asking if there's anything else I can do, I know I haven't done enough. Vroom, vroom, and off he speeds, me thinking how justified an action it is.

You know what that smell is? It's the smell of a job well done.

Drive in for booze, drive away for a DUI. Sometimes somethings make so much sense at the time.

"At rehearsal last night they said it was going to be on a pipe. But which pipe I'm not so sure. It's just one of the many questions I have for Robin today."

Twenty dollars on pens. I am an economical genius. And fuckin' Office Max doesn't fuckin' have my fuckin' Pilot V-balls. Sucktaste. Now I have two Pilot Precise(es) in my pocket. What's this world coming to?

Was doing a bit of journaling last night when I glanced up and saw a Cujo on my ceiling. Sitting there like the devil's own spawn. I as of yet have not seen one at the theatre, all of them choosing to occupy the place that I sleep, which bothers me, I think. So I thought that maybe I could save myself the grief and leave him there, but the thought of him skittering about while I slept was too much for me, so off came my shoe and down came my righteous fury.
Josh: 3 / Cujo: 0

I know that we can't choose who we fall in love with. That those who break our hearts are never the ones that we choose, only the ones that we lose. I won't flatter you by saying that I chose you, that you were the only one unique and complete enough to somehow stand out as the only choice before the endless random chances that is the rest of this world. But I will say, more so because it is the truth then to inflate your ego, that if I had the chance I would choose you to break my heart just as you did. In hindsight we are free to say we regret the things that we never would have done differently in the moment I will say that you were worth every tear.

Going away is easier when you have somewhere that you're going to.

Back to the DeKalb tonight for some rum and some fun. Can't wait to see Chris and everyone. Been helping people break up with other people. I guess it's good practice for my next failed relationship. An attempt at levity. I know I'm not funny.

After two preformances I think Baby! is finally ready to open.

Opening tonight. Drinking later.

I'm not tired, I'm just ... tired.

I could really use my toothbrush right about now. Maybe I should just move into the theatre.

I remember when my printer used to dance for me.

It's been a rough couple of days.

Still haven't showered.

Did you know that DL spelled backwords is LD?

Came home tonight, walked past my roommate with two gorgeous ladies (I most likely being more fucked up then the two of them put together). This being the first time that one of them saw where I was living and what should be sitting on the wall but a Cujo. So she flipped and I flipped and the third one of us did not flip out (being a rational thought person). But it was my place and my duty so I grabbed my sandal, took a deep breath, and smashed the motherfucker like he wasn't going to see tomorrow.
Josh: 2 / Cujo: 0

There's supposed to be a long cosmic moment. When eyes meet and planets collide and stars explode. When bodies are too close and they musky exhaling of another is felt on your eyelids. Everything is serious. Everything is right. Suddenly words are spoken. "I can feel your obscene hardness growing under my palm." Release. Explosions of laughter, not of stars, echo off the walls. Nothing is serious. Everything is still right. Suddenly all the twinkling you need is seen within the depths of the orbs in their face. Hours fly like minutes while a breath takes a lifetime. Without warning you kiss, surprise at something you had known all along; the taste of their breath, the feel of their lips. In the morning their head rests on your shoulder and you abs hurt in that good, peaceful way.

I can get up early and go though a full day's worth of work so long as I have a full day's worth of work to do. Once I hit that down time (read: nap time) it's lights out.

I finally found some stones, so I can hopefully try and skip them out over the lake tonight. I wish I had my belt with me, though, 'cause they're pulling down my pants.

Why is it that there are times when I'm suprised that the other shoe has dropped?

After about an hour or so worth of work I now have the resume online in two forms. The first being mostly internet unfriendly, just links for email. The second having links dotted thoughout where they exist. Feedback would be appreshated.

Two letters in two days. I'm getting spoiled.

Just got out of a production meeting for Baby! and I'm really, really, really excited about the show. Excited to the point that I'm excited. I don't think I've been this excited about a show since Natalie came to me about eMOTION (granted in the initial stages of Carmina Burana I was beyond giddy, but the reality of that situation made it a tough process for me). So Baby! is this impressionistic set, which is what I enjoy the most, and three seperate worlds that the director is going to stick to, not to mention the wide open spaces for high side light, and a punk rock song. This is going to rule. Rule.

Happy Birthday, Lyndsey Ogle!

I have finally eaten at a Hot 'n Now and my belt has broken. The Lord giveith and the Lord takeith away.

Finished Neil Gaiman's American Gods last night. Everything wrapped up pretty well in the end, kinda like a play. A nice neat little bow on everything. Disappointment isn't quite the word, but it's close. He turned a good phrase there, a lot of the time, a pretty good story. Wasn't at all what I was expecting, but full and complete and followed it though to the end. The revelations, the reversals at the end took me by surprise, but after they were revealed seemed somehow cheep and scheming. I'm still recovering from The Unbearable Lightness of Being, which I read months ago before the long dry spell, and also thinking a bit about The Alchemist which I finished as I picked up American Gods. For the most part Gaiman was telling a story, there were moments that seemed created simply to delight, and, honestly, they did delight. Shadow was a character almost of Bogart style, "Hey, say 'nevermore.'" Funny stuff. I enjoyed the judgment thoroughly, my favorite part standing before Anoubs, the Collector of Souls, in my mind the peak of the book, even if the climax did come later. The falling action, the post climax, the ending was the let down. Mainly, I think, because it concluded nothing, it abstracted nothing, the story was over and that was all. Such is life, I suppose.

What a strange world this would be. But then again, that's nothing new, it's a strange world already. I'll tell you this, though, I think he's motivated, I think he's driven. I think he's been sitting on his hands for a while not realizing the uncomfortable feeling was that of his thumbs sticking him in the rear. I'm pretty sure he's realized these things and realized there's something that he wants to do in life; and that he's going to do it. I know he doesn't fuck around, and that he pushes everyone around him hard, hard, hard. I know one person in life that might possibly be more ambitious than I am, and she's given herself to him, which is more than enough to sell me on the idea. I put it on the top of my list for a reason, because the enjoyment I get from it today is wonderful, but I feel; somewhere deep down, that the enjoyment I'll receive from in later will be indescribable. So I know you won't (and shouldn't) let me make your decisions for you, but if you'd like to take into account the decisions I've made in my life, this is one of them.

I take you seriously, sure, but it's hard for me to do so in the manner that you would like me to. First off it's against my nature, I would prefer high drama for the stage and subtle and laughable drama for life. The second is that I know I'm in your blood, doing the demon things that herion does to someone, making them feel better than normal and worse then ever. Sadly, what happens is that by the time I'm able to be how you want me to be, I'm something I don't want to be and you've already walked away.

Laziness and incompetence strikes again.

I believe that candy really did taste better when I was a kid, that it's aerodynamically impossible for a bumblebee to fly, that light is a wave and a particle, that there's a cat in a box somewhere who's alive and dead at the same time (although if they don't ever open the box to feed it it'll eventually just be two different kinds of dead), and that there are stars in the universe billions of years older than the universe itself. I believe in a personal god who cares about me and worries and oversees everything I do. I believe in an impersonal god who sets the universe in motion and went off to hang with her girlfriends and doesn't even know I'm alive. I believe in an empty and godless universe of casual chaos, background noise, and sheer blind luck ... I believe in absolute honesty and sensible social lies ... I believe that life is a game, that life is a cruel joke, and that life happens when you're alive and that you might as well lie back and enjoy it.

-Neil Gaiman; American Gods

What good does missing someone do you? Where is the value in feeling the longing that isn't going to go away, that there's no cure for? Sure, you can feel for someone, sure you can wish them around, but if they aren't around that doesn't mean you stop and shut down and wait for them to reappear. No, you keep moving and you keep going and you live your goddamned life. If someone's drunk and they say to you "I miss you" and you know you'll never see them again, I think it's a good idea to placate them and let them know that it's okay. But if someone's drunk and they're going to see you in two fucking days and they say they miss you (and they've said it a whole ton of other times since they've been gone) I would have thought it was a good idea to remind them that it's only two days, less than a blink of God's all-seeing eyes. I guess that's the wrong answer though. I guess it's better to drown yourself in your longing the same way you drown yourself in your liquor.

Something happens in life (I think it's called "getting older") that reminds us to pick up napkins when we're about to sit down to eat.

Happy Birthday, Phil Higgins!

So anyhow I feel a little envious; a little bit of inadequacy. This has to do with Kelli and her talking about Purchase, not to mention her loads and loads of paperwork for Steel Magnolias. I feel like I know what I'm doing, but I also feel like there's a bunch I have left to learn, about the way theatre is run. It also has a little bit to do with Bret and ambitiondrives. Which, I might add, is a tremendous success. That being the deal, it's prettier than this page, by a long shot, not to mention being much more 1337. All in all, though, it feels good to have something to strive for.

Back in the saddle again. Show call. Or should I say back in black?

Photo call for Annie. I only took a role and a half. Does that seem strange? Then again, I did show up about twenty minutes late because I couldn't find my camera. Hopefully the f-you picture will turn out, 'cause I'd love to show that one in a review.

Happy Birthday, Steven Vittitoe!

Be happy to see me when you see me and don't be envious of the time when I'm away.

Happy Birthday, Allison Hudson!

Biked in today. Started raining, just a little bit, but enough to make me worry about the pouring down and leaving me dripping when I got to the shop. Remembered the squirrel I'd seen the other day with a white tail. Brown squirrel, looking totally normal, but had a white tail. An albino tail. Crazy stuff.

Car is fixed, off to Chicago tomorrow. Revised the resume this afternoon. Working on the Rasa info tonight as well as Steel Magnolias, not to mention a pizza party. Should be good times.

Got the ol' email from the ol' Bret today. About the ol' ambitiondrives. Meaning, of course, that I'll be busting up the ol' posting about the ol' expreriences in the ol' theatre. Ol' style. Ol' skool. Ol' my.

I just walked into the lobby at intermission of a show that I lit, and I realized that there wouldn't be anyone there that I recognized. I suddenly remembered the feeling of one of my first days at NIU, during orientation, when I came into the Duke Ellington ballroom, sat down and realized that in this huge room there was going to be no familiar faces.

Somehow I managed to track my last pay check (and I just cashed it), all the way to broke.

Annie opening tonight. Dinner first. I get to actually go to my opening and watch the show.

There are reasons people don't live in theatres. They get really creepy in the middle of the night.

Once again, there are actors about.

Tech one. Tech fun. Boy, I wish tech was done.

Alright, so I've got three pages of notes, which (I think) is more than I've ever taken in a single day. The show opens the day after tomorrow. I am not in the slightest worried or nervous about it. I've got everything under control. I nailed a couple of things this afternoon, every place looks different and unique, I maintain coherence throughout. "NYC" is nice, and the most dance-like of the songs, go figure I went to town on it. I think I'm alright at this (by "this" I mean "lighting;" I'd never want to be accused of not defining my pronouns). Oh, and I broke the button on my pants. I have also been informed that I'm the only one that had a good tech.

So as I was getting ready today I started thinking to myself, "Well, at least I have a pound and a half of butter." This is strange enough, I guess, except that I don't actually have a pound and a half of butter.

First Cujo sighting, the place where I'm staying. I drowned him in my fury and anger at his very existence (otherwise known as the sink).
Josh: 1 / Cujo: 0

I really should have brought my finger nail clippers to Michigan.

I wonder if anyone has ever made a dildo the shape of lake Michigan. I wonder if me thinking that makes me odd in anyway.

Slut bag? What exactly is a slut bag? And how exactly am I one?

I really don't much like feeling this way.

I feel like writing, all kinds of things. Words are tumbling though my head in a way that they haven't in a long, long time, as if I have not only something to say, but am finding the way to say it as I go though my daily life. Little rhymes, subtle sentences, dialogue, it's all falling, like a gentle waterfall. I hope something comes of it before the well runs dry.

It's almost five. Right now I had the choice between doing some stuff with the ol' lightwright or go and party Kalamazoo style. Does it make me a work-a-holic that I had to actually think about it for a second? Does it sound strange that I'm going to party in a place called Kalamazoo? Yeah, I think, on both accounts.

So last night I'm standing in a lighted doorway, speaking about thoughts that were tumbling all around in my head full of vodka, somewhat unsure of standing on my feet but wholly sure of myself and my fear and uncertainty. In this state I said to the shadow darkening the doorway, "I'm sure that a hospital room or a jail cell are far less frightening than my nightmares," and I meant it. I almost added death to that list but what dreams my come when we have shuffled of this mortal coil must give us pause.

I guess I've been dreaming recently. Don't remember so much when I wake up, but they filter down as I go about my day. One recently I was going on one adventure or another, Stormy was with me. I miss my dog. So bad sometimes it hurts. Hurts worse than falling down the stairs, hurts in a way that I can't ignore, that I can't deal with. That just washes over me in a wave of sorrow and tears and loss. So I dreamt about her, taking her with me, like I should have in life, like I should have taken her with me. She shouldn't of had to die alone, surrounded by people, sure, but no one that took care of her, no one that loved her, no one that held her while she slept. I'm so sorry. I dreamt of this adventure, something contrived and wholly unnatural, with laugh tracks, like a sitcom. I'm running around, having madcap adventures, getting by on a shoeshine and a smile. This cute little dog is with me, somewhat distracted and I hold her with me and set her down and she wonders off, and I wear a disarming smile, "I forgot my dog." But I never left without her. We'd drive into the sunset, my dog and I, her head out the window or resting in my lap. God, if only life could be like that. Never having to let her die alone who was alone so much in life, and content with her life as it was. I want to learn something from this. I want to feel this pain forever, not relish in it but know that it's there, as real as the dawn, and learn from it.

There are actors about.

I got into a fight tonight with Kelli. Not some stupid whining fight, but more the fists of rage sort of fight. We were talking about some bullshit, the sort of bullshit people talk about after having listened to that Flaming Lips album that needs four stereos to listen to properly. You know, "The big old bug is the new baby now." That sort of thing. And so she says to me, "You wanna fight?" Now I, being the frisky little scamp I am, say, "Yes." This is of course where I forget that she's actually fought people before. You know, alla Fight Club. She was one of those kids that saw that movie and went out and punched people. Life imitating art? Like awakened by art? So I was about to take my keys out of my pocket and here she comes with the aforementioned fists of rage. Slam, slam, slam. "Holy shit, Kelli, I haven't even gotten my keys out of my pocket." Slam, slam. "Oh, sorry, do that." Beat, beat (in the theatrical since), slam, slam. "You're too fuckin' slow." So the fighting starts and we're friends so we're hitting each other in the back and, well, the back. And I'm not hitting her that hard. "Fuckin' hit me." So I hit her again, and I realize something I've known for a long time, "I'm a pacifist." She takes this well. "Fuck you!" Hits me a couple more times. Slam, slam, slam. So I guess I fail, I almost hit her half way, maybe. I'm worried I'll like it. A lot. A lot worried that I'll a lot like it. In fact I could say right now I think I'd like it. I have a feeling before this is over (and by this I mean my second Coldwater odyssey) that we'll get into it sometime, and most likely hurt each other pretty bad. And that would actually be a good thing.

I think the best way to say it is that you broke something tender deep inside of me.

Truer words may never have been spoken (written).

Fuck me and my stupid lamenting poetry. Fuck these rhymes that say, "Oh, oh, look how clever and love-sick I am." You think by now I'd be beyond this benign junior high bullshit, but I suppose not. It just seeps out of me, when I'm tired and it's late at night and I want very much for the world to rhyme and shine with starlight. I want very much for myself to be happy with my life, personally. I do not wish to die for a cause, to throw myself as a martyr for something greater than myself. Myself, I feel, is great enough to live for. And I suppose that if the poetry that myself writes is deeply personal, and somewhat whining there could be worse things. Yet I also suppose that poetry needs to be more than just a clever bit of meter and verse, more than just a personal outpouring and something more. At the very least gropes at something more. Something that speaks beyond me, beyond my meaning and my purpose and my subject. I think the problem is I'm not really a poet, I just fancy myself one.

I have decided not to comb my hair today.

Happy Birthday, Michelle Preston!

Got home last night sometime after two in the AM. Snuck into the house like a thief, or some high school kid. Did a pretty good job of it. Bought some envelopes yesterday, so hopefully letters will be going out soon.

Had a party last night, tech style, Coldwater style. Rock on Coldwater. What I would consider a success, no one leaving too early, everyone having a good time, the last guest taking off around 2am. Nothing like the DeKalb parties I'd been throwing, but still a good beginning. It was followed by a dream in which the house light control at the Tibbits started sparking while I was using them and causing a rather unceremonious blackout with a house full of an audience.