New Information: Do you have an email address you don't check often? I do. It's more "professional" than valerietown, so I use it in more "professional" situations. I kind of hate it. I don't check it that often. I once missed an audition that I wanted to go to so badly that reading the email the evening after the auditions felt like a punch in the stomach. I just missed a scripts in progress reading last week. I blame the very idea of "professionalism" for this.
The Apartment: Old Smokey's at it again. My downstairs neighbor. I guess I didn't notice how much I just tolerated it this summer, or, for some reason, now my smeller's kicked into high gear again, or she's just smoking more than usual, but now I'm on edge all the time.
I spoke to her - again - two days ago, and now I have to again. It's that part that bothers me most, just this obligation of confrontation. I have to psych myself up for it. She's perfectly nice about it - which I suppose is pretty easy when you're just nodding at someone and pretending like you're listening to what they're saying - but it just takes a fair amount of psychic effort.
I just rarely run into things that politely calling someone out won't fix. Litterers, people speaking loudly in libraries--that kind of thing. Once you let people know they aren't invisible, usually they sort of shape up.
My plan is to just get down to brass tacks with her. I'm done doing this whole, oh, maybe you just aren't aware routine. Tomorrow, it's going to be more of a listen sister, we have to work this out.
And if that doesn't work, I don't know. I guess I'll have to get some dumbbells to start dropping whenever she lights up.
I know it seems like I'm a little fixated, but I'm home a lot, and she, apparently, is home a lot, and there is just lots of time to think about my dry throat and imaginary smoke curls invading my apartment.
For you: James just wrote a really wonderful blog post about the frustration of the sacrifice/selfishness of art.
And also this: I'm Comic Sans, A-hole. I'll tell you right now, it has a lot of swears. So don't read it. But it makes me laugh every, every time.
The title: Of this blog is stolen, whole cloth, from James's poem.
Other things that are stolen: A joke James stole from me last week. About how The Help could be renamed The Blind Side II, and no one would notice the difference. Joke's on him; I stole it from a friend from school.
Thing I did this summer: Dropped a class because the professor used all her fingers when making air quotes. Do this now, so you can see how absurd it looks.