(no subject)

:
It was last week that I expressed my consternation with the prop master. My invective surprised even myself. 

The error was minor.  After all, our show does not open for another three fortnights.  No, it was just that I'd made my schedule very clear, and missing a date, even this early, after so much had not gone right ... I felt petty before the words had passed throught the air.  It is too easy to lash out at the powerless.

The combination of stress and ennui has cooled my desire to such a degree that my efforts feel rote and mechanical. My last tryst only resulted in repellent failure. There was a time I worried I had a reputation as a Don Juan... now I am distressed to find myself a Falstaff.

In a serendipitous moment, I crossed paths with Q___.  There was a time when I was very, very cross with her.  I had always been keenly aware that Q___'s insults were the result of negligence and not of malice, but one can only hear the same excuses for so long.  As I suspected, she was unaware.  I think her apology was sincere. I do not know if anything will come out of it -- I have had earfuls of her contradictions before. I will hope.  I walked away feeling better.

Possibly the first symptom of reclusiveness is paranoia.  I am unsure if G___ is having fun at my expense or if she has serious interest in me.   And I am unsure if I would continue to be polite and be accused of artfulness, or to be candid and risk boorishness.  She intimated ideas that stimulated my imagination ... but was the discussion sincere?  I juggle too many priceless eggs in variable gravity.

It makes me wonder just what my place is.  I am drawn to the company of jaded sybarites, but am I truly among their number?  Do I pine for greener grass? Do I only want what I do not have?  Am I looking for something that isn't there?  Why am I looking for meaning among those who say things are meaningless?

I am looking for a center. What if it turns out to be hollow?