So, I was at work the other day writing on my order-pad because things were a little slow. Usually if I've got nothing else to do, I'll pull out my order pad and jot things down on a back-page - thoughts, ideas, plots, and sudden fancies that strike as they will when one has nothing to do but think. Anyway, many of the other servers generally ask me what I'm writing and if I'm writing a story - I generally just answer that I'm bored. I don't particularly want them to know what's going through my brain. It was exceptionally funny when M. asked me what I was writing, I told him that I was bored and just jotting down thoughts, and he said, "Finally! Somebody else who writes for pleasure!"
Is this so odd? People who write for pleasure are a rarity? Why, when it's so easy to just pick up a pen or sit down at your laptop, do people just choose not to write? I have to write. In order to clear my mind of the clutter - and to generally make room for the new clutter - I have to write down my thoughts and get rid of them. At least temporarily. Is it odd? I've been doing this since I was quite young - and gotten progressively better at it with age and practice - and I'll probably continue it all my life.
But anyway. In other news, the musical is progressing and I'm feeling exceptionally panicked. Not because I'm unprepared - I'm nearly off-book, and I have several days to go until I actually need to have hit that point - but because I'm just nervous. Never have I played such a key role in a plot. Never have I sang such high notes by myself in front of people. Never have I kissed two men in one play - which should be interesting and I really need to ask B. to chew gum or something, because he chain-smokes like nobody's business and that's all he tastes like. I'm nervous because this is uncharted territory and I'm simply not used to it. I'm a little freaked out by it all - it's not just that this is uncharted territory, either. It's that they're trusting me with it.
It sort of blows my mind a little.
It's bitterly cold here, which makes my late-nights somewhat unpleasant when I have to walk back to the house. However, when the night's so clear and cold that it cuts at your eyes just to have them open, it really makes it worth it to see all those stars in the black. So as I struggle into my big wool coat and dress in layers like my life depends on it, I just think of the stars.
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See, I'm lucky in the sense that when I say "Working on a story," my friends and family know that if I wanted to provide details, I'd do so instead of staying vague. Then again, I'm invariably working on a story of some sort, so it's not as though it's so unusual for me to be doing it.
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