15/01/2003 - 6:16 p.m.

No way to make a living.

Right, OK, at this moment I should be pulling Agnes of God out of my ass to be certain that I do actually know it and it's not simply my imagination. Hmmm, yet here I am. It is peculiar that the only monolouge I can still remember and do is that one. I did the monolouge in a scene back in November of my sophomore year. My sophomore year. And now, four years later, it seems to be relatively intact. Whereas, ask me any of my lines from Poof! that I did with Abby spring of last year. I got nothing.

I would really like to say that, oh, it's because it was such an enticing piece of work and I admire it and Agnes as a character, but I don't. I think it's simply because I was absolutely terrified of it. I still am, I have to be careful saying it over to myself because it's a scary monolouge. It's not even the monolouge everybody knows, when she's under hypnosis and goes all stigmata either. No, I'm scared by the other one, that just about a little minute long piece that seems really rather harmless in comparison. It scares me to play it. I can't explain it.

Tomorrow I am going to write a No Shame piece. I am. I have it all in my head, I just need to write it down. And I really will write it down. I will.

At the shop today I spent three hours clearing and sweeping around, on, and under every single surface in a room that's probably 45' x 25'. That's a very long time in a very big dirty room. All I was supposed to do was dust and sweep so that surfaces regained their original colour and texture, rather than being grey and slightly soft. I ended up with about a foot of dust in a janitor sized rubbish bin. The most fun part was, after I finished, you really couldn't tell that anything had been done.

The best part of this story was that I then agreed to work five hours on Friday. Five hours probably of lifting and carrying and cleaning and lots of other painful things. All in one straight shot. I might just die.