Saturday, October 19, 2002

One of the major problems I have is knowing when to believe myself. One minute I am sure that my life is falling apart, I've blown it and there are only seconds to save myself. The next that all is well. The next that I don't care. The next that I am in control. The next that I am not. Who do I believe? How many of me are there out there? When should I trust my own assessment?

This is why it is a good thing I got married. Except should I believe him?

When you blog it is like you become pure consciousness. Particularly if you don't upload pictures. This is why I felt like the big pink head in the Samuel Beckett novel...the It? What was it called again. He was pure consciousness and just turned into a head. The template makes me humourless also. And then finally I like the illusion of an audience. Even when I don't have one. It inspires me to perform. Yet, as in ordinary venues such as novels and the theater my audience must remain silent. They sit in the darkness. And because it is very, very dark I can imagine the theater is full. I must do my best! I must play that death scene with all the passion I can muster! Little do I know there is only the janitor sweeping slowly in the back and thinking about whether it is worth it to join the union.


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