Pitcher of Perfection

The girl and her dollhouse.

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Deathlines
Its now the 13th - and the play I'm involved in opens on the 23rd. Thats about 9 days time. And we only have 5 more rehearsals. How's that for a plays death sentence.
We have enough to put on a show, but is it worth it to see, or to be staged ... I don't know. The director seems to think its going along well enough, judging from her behaviour and generally laissez-faire attitude. She seems calm enough about it.
Wonder if she'll part of share some secret about her confidence and apparent placidness concerning the play and our performance.

So much for this toy house production, I konw in my heart its an amateur performance but I really want it to be as professional as I can.

It hurts kinda to know I can walk away wth no regret or problem.
It hurts to know that I won't have a contract because I won't be paid for this. I can screw up and not really give a shit, with only work ethic being my only conscience.
It hurts because this is really just a feat to payback what I'm being charged for on the company printing mistake several months back.
(its really more of a sympathetic pang - nothing quite so gut-wrenchingly painful, so no worries, eh)

Work
It does seem to have slowed down a bit since the mad rush is mostly over for me. The rest will just be beginning for the rest of the office. I will have to catch up on all the other things and work lined up from before but I know I can take it slower, and thats always good at work.

Dates
I've lined up a few things. I have a full day on a coming Sunday. After a full run- I'll be rushing off to read at the OMG (Open Mike Gig) held at the Food Foundry, PJ, courtesy of my friends Pat and Priya. Yea!
I'll be looking forward to that, altho' I may have a problem with the Malaysiana theme. I don't exactly know how many of my pieces and writing really reflect Malaysiana as a whole or partial piece even. I'd like to think of my amateur writing as ... more universal. I have neither the skill nor experience to write anything more aptly detailed.

Dating
Its working out ok. But I'm not sure I'm settling for ok anymore.
I need to be more demanding, I need ... more now. I've come to realize I've settled a lot in the past, because, I guess, I wanted to always be someone better, like I wasn't good enough. But I've got to stop that.
Thats the reason why I had this stupid sabbatical in the first place. To place myself first and work on myself from within, regardless of how cliche that may be. damn it ...
And the guy needs to know this. I know I've mentioned it to him, but I torn to really letting him know how serious I need this to work for me. Not for us ... just me.

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Prose

I clown around the fringes of a man's thoughts. I idle away at the working woman who never thinks she's enough. I spin dizzily at a childs disregarding upbringing.
I am a lost conscience.

Close your eyes, voluntarily to me.
No more talk of wonders, no more open battles lest we see it coming. We are covert, stealthy operatives to the core of the soul. And we strike painlessly, lest we feel.

Signet of words, we used long ago.
Fall heedlessly to sealed ears. The flaps of the lobe skin strung and sealed across the earhole. The eardrum humming to the selfless thoughts we wish only to hear but never listen.

And I hate. With a hunger.
Run away with me to close a chapter of human greed.
I will show you mute music, blinding light and many more things you cannot imagine because you were taught never to.

I settle across the brow of the permanent frowns. I sink between the wrinkles and creases of pristine perfect dermatological miracles. I whet on the stirrings of primal consumerism working up the evolutionary ladder.
I am the lost conscience.