'Scuse me while I morph into a seventy-nine-year-old shrew...

But I've been "officially" an officer since last spring, and Joff has known that ever since he dropped the roster at my feet at the first meeting of the year. I'm in possession of a half-full drama log and more photos than I can count and as far as I've noticed I turn up for rehearsals and meetings more often than he does. He reminds me of Dakis a little bit in that way, except Dakis and I view one another with more neutrality than veiled disdain. And Dakis accepts the fact that I'm still of of the "elite" even though I was never elected. Never mind that there were never any official elections, and that Ashing skipped into the presidency without so much as a ballot box to back her up and that, once Darrel tried to kill himself, I was the only one who volunteered to step in as secretary, to say nothing of historian.

So. I was in the picture. Ashing the bohemian, Dakis the Greek god, and Joff the monarch twisted themselves into whatever outlandish pose they came up with, and I knelt in front like a tree stump sprouting Spanish moss. The yearbook people took another and Katherine from the Shrew, who isn't an officer at all, merrily joined in.

I am an officer, arent't I? I was the last time I checked, and if not, I've apparantly been toting some unnecessary obligations. The other elitists tend to clump together wherever they are, while I sit apart with a book and a pen. (Can we say anti-social?) Quite sad, really. Drama club is supposed to be a sort of sanctuary for the oddities of the school, yet after over three years and two elitist positions I still haven't managed to fit myself into the jigsaw. There are different categories of "odd," y'see, and as far as I can tell, I don't quite belong in any of them (generalities forthcoming). I'm not five feet tall and five inches wide like Hostess and Gilberte and I don't exude that pixieish adorability. I'm not outgoing and exotic like the other officers, nor do I spend much time with them outside of school. I'm not an attention-craving pity case like Tranio, Gremio, Sean, or Puck, or at least I hope I'm not. I'm not eccentrically mature like Amos or Lucentio or Hortensio. I don't involuntarily seem to command laughter and acceptance like Katherine or Grumio. I'm terrible at anti-conformity; as opposed to some, who manage to come off as devil-may-care individualists, I tend to radiate uncertainty and hesitancy. I haven't known any members for a particularly long time, nor do I live particularly close to them like Julia or Gibbs or Biondello. In short, I'm the odd man out when it comes to categorizing oddities. And the pathetic thing is, I don't even think I want to fit in. Still, it might be nice to know where to go, just in case.

But then, I underrate my voice box. Maybe I should talk every now and then just to let people know I'm still there, in spite of the fact that I don't particularly want to talk to Joff. If nothing else, I can at least amuse myself by thinking about how much he looks like a bespectacled palm tree that's been soaked in peroxide. Why every other female dramamate strains her lungs moaning for him and/or Dakis is beyond me...

No more intraspective butchering. Must make a dent in the resolution that consists of abiding by the Q-TIP method and quit taking it personally, "it" meaning everything. Besides, those moles have been screeching at me to return that mountain range to them.

I'll have a happier entry up soon, promise.

"Will I be remembered?"

"Nah. But at least you'll remember everything."

Adieu.