I have been awful about updating this lately.

So, a brief update.

Studio is going really well. Meisner has opened me up in ways I didn't think possible. I'm much less frightened and very thankful for that. Afro-Haitian is great and Pat, the instructor, is this phenomenal woman. She's a grandmother, but looks maybe 45 at the oldest.

Boys are nonexistent.

Getting things back in place after the wallet debacle is annoying, but completely necessary.

Rehearsal is good and I'm super excited for the show to go up. That's really all I have about now.

I will post something soon, I promise.

I've just been very busy...

In other news, I'm the proud owner of a Dries Van Noten snakeskin print suit. Pics to come.

Had Trader Joe's puttanesca with capellini and wilted spinach for dinner. Fig newtons for dessert.

Watched Modern Family and liked it.

It wasn't such a bad day.

Addendum: My bed is the most wonderful thing. I turn the air conditioning on really high and curl up underneath this big gray flannel comforter. It's so good.

Po-Po

I filed a police report yesterday. Bizarre, really.

It was fine, not stressful or degrading. Not that it should be.

And thankfully, my friends Jenny and Blair were there. And we had a lovely dinner afterwards.

I think my last post was too dramatic, but I know I tend towards the hyperbolic, so it's just me being me.

Not having money mostly sucks, but there's some oddly freeing quality to it. I don't know, it's like I don't have to care or feel responsible for it or feel burdened by it.

On the up and up, I may be able to recover all of the money taken. Well, not recover so much as be reimbursed. Which is nice. I realized that I actually worked for that money, and to have 15 hours of my life taken sucks, so to be given it back would be more than I could hope.

I'm generally good. Hungry all the time mostly. Growth spurt? Probably not. But wouldn't it be nice?

In Which Colin Plays Victim for the Umpteenth Time

Someone stole my wallet the night before last.

Just typing it makes me feel threatened.

They charged ninety dollars in subway tickets on both of my cards. I think I'll be reimbursed for the most part.

I had a fifty dollar Best Buy gift card that was a graduation present from my childhood therapist in there as well.

And my driver's license.

They took it, without remorse or a guilty conscience. They took it and left me without any real way to pay for things. They took it and left me feeling violated, invaded, and helpless.

But it'll be fine, I know. I'm safe, I'm well, and it'll be fine.

I put a block on the card to my checking account and cancelled the other card.

I had taken out the cash prior to leaving my dorm that night.

I still have my phone and my iPod and my camera.

I feel like I'm moving through water; something more viscous than air, but not yet solid. Something with just enough resistance to prove frustrating.

And as I move through this water, I am trying, trying as best as I can, to hold my breath, and not to give up.

My Ideal Man

It's been weird lately. I don't know. I've been emotional and confused and generally messed up by this God-forsaken sickness that just won't leave me the fuck alone.

Back to Air-Born and Emergen-C I guess.

Anyway. My emotions have been taking their toll lately - I'm tired and pissy and generally defeated. Which is not a good way to go through life. So I'm working on not being those things and focusing my energy on being happy and maybe just a little bit productive.

I had my first rehearsal for The Pillowman last night. It's gonna be a great show. I'm so, so excited. The work that I've put in already is astounding. Jenna, the director, is really putting me through my paces; making me think and move in new, foreign, sometimes uncomfortable ways. It's so good for me.

I've been debating whether or not to write about this, but it's such an essential part of my life. I hate the way I am around guys. It's generally pathetic and cold and aloof and scared. I don't know how to approach them, I don't know how to behave around them. I'm a fish out of water, flailing my way towards dry death. It's bad. Real bad. And I'm not sure how to work on it. Whitney? Whitney, you wanna offer me some sage advice so that your Mommy can bring the girls home a new Daddy?