Clayton's just told the whole room that I'm playing in my diary. Journal, I said. Same thing, they said. Now some nosy, inbred, future trailer park queen is searching Google to find the address to this diary. I didn't know my name was out so pervasively on the internet. Then again, I should check to see what she's coming up with.
....I'm not sure why she's so interested, other than to spread shit about anything I've written about the people around us. She's in pretty tight with Robin. Even though I produced more of this project that she did - the so-called producer - no one would read anything here with the realization that I have a right to my perspective. Fucking children.
Kristi's leaning over my shoulder and whining that I won't let her read it. I probably will. Later. Much, much later. Maybe months later, just because I'm not sure whether she has any tact. There's a little piece of me that wants to let her in, just because I really need some emotionally reliable allies. The other night she listened to me worry about offending Sarah (which was stooooopid, b/c Sarah did more to offend me that night....). Kristi's one of the only... no, the only female in our crowd whom I trust to talk to about how I feel give me positive, appropriate feedback. Still, I think she'd be offended by my impressions of people. Maybe when she understands me better I'll send her a link.
Some of us are planning a Bloody Mary breakfast at The Spar, because sitting through every single piece (of shit) that was produced in the last 10 weeks is going to be bloody murder.
And, as I'd hoped, the social relations with everyone of signifigance had repaired themselves, at least superficially and with suprisingly little effort. I should have put in more but it's amazing how far a little ego-stroking will go.
So, this project stayed on track pretty much the way I wanted it to. The breakfast meeting with Robin and Sarah weeks ago was a good idea, but it took way too long to get things rolling. The only rule I wanted to keep intact was no last-minute editing on the day of deadline. And at 10:30 tonight, in time for the second half-hour of South Park, I dumped the final mixed cut to tape. Damn, it feels good to be good.
I was right about Robin's missplaced resentment of the world. Tom even said like most thick girls, Robin carries around issues with the world. Robin doesn't just carry baggage; she has luggage. Possibly freight.
I projected another Bogosian (Eric, that is) monologue in my living room this morning about that very issue. Oddly enough, the clearer her psychological issues become to me, the shorter my monologues are.
Again, I care not to go into this issue because
1) i don't want to make this a bitch-fest. I'm trying to learn how to write better.
2) Robin and I are superficially doing quite well right now. And it's nice. There's no need for me to spoil that.
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