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I just realized last night that Bret and I have been together - so to speak - for three months now. Good grief. This is the longest relationship I've had since freshman year. And, well, the best.

I'm sitting in the rehearsal hall during a run-through right now, and I'm getting that feeling of just not wanting to deal with eople. Kinda hard to avoid, when in a play with fifteen other people. I just keep wanting to curl up and hide somewhere. Times like this I truly resent not having my own room. (And yes, I realized I've been spoiled in this area.) I think that even if I get married, I'll need one room to myself. Someday I'll have a library - that's my idea of affluence.

Three more days of rehearsal after today, then tech and performance. I feel like it's come together really well, but I'm just ready to be gone. I don't like what I feel I've become around here. It feels like all I do is complain - about Clarissa, about money, about the people upstairs blasting George Michael through the ceiling at 1:30 in the morning (actually, I think I was justified in that one)...I know I tend to complain a lot as it is (anyone reading more than one entry in this journal can see that), but I'd like to think that I talked about more than just complaining. Or maybe I'm deluding myself - anything's possible.

This is my last weekend in London - by this time next Saturday, I'll be somewhere over the Atlantic. Soon, I'll be home. Here's hoping it'll still be home.


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Dec. 8th, 2001 09:56 am (UTC)
I always read your journals. You have a great way of wording things together. I don't think you complain all the time (besides, we're human, we complain), I just think you're expressing your emotions and whats wrong with that?

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