Pardon the angst, but I've never felt I was truly good at anything, except acting, maybe. Which is why, upon seeing the list for callbacks, I was thrown into an inner dystopia. I thought the audition went well, and I've yet to meet anyone, Medusa excepted, who criticizes me more than I do myself. But I wasn't on the list. Warren was, which bothered me a bit. He's a nice lad, but he doesn't have the greatest stage presence I've ever come across. And yet. Maybe I'm missing things. Maybe my judgment is skewed. Maybe the high school drama prof's casting wasn't as lousy as I made myself believe and I honestly didn't deserve anything more than the small roles she tossed my way. Why, by cracky, I just might not be cut out for the stage at all.

I'd rather not believe it; in fact, I'd rather cling to my delusions, or at least know how in the world I managed to develop them. Or what I'm doing wrong, if anything. Who knows. Point is, drama is the one thing I thought myself halfway decent at and now, well, yes, what now?

Damnation, I did well at the audition. So where did I slip? What went wrong? Heck, let's be trite: What does Warren (or Ashing, or Dakis, or any of the high school spotlight gluttons I'm glad to be rid of) have that I don't? Aside from testosterone, but then, I can gender-bend...

I don’t know anymore, not that I did before.

Which is why I'm sitting here, lurching every now and then, and finding that when I reach up to swipe hair out of my eyes, the skin my fingers brush isn't exactly dry. Austine recently set up her laptop and is busying herself by conversing with her quasi-boyfriend, which leaves me free to discreetly brush at my eyes, thank heavens.

And if Roommate #2 comes through the door, the first thing she lays eyes on is going to be this quivering lump in my chair. I'd best pull myself together. I'm just a blabbering ball of emotions today, ain't I?

Adieu.