Strange new addiction

So all of a sudden every single one of my friends (and a few of my not friends) are raving about this crazy "new" obsession they all have called "myspace." Its like none of them realize that blogging has been around for longer than most of them can probably remember. Longer than I can remember.

Its weird. I love the anonymity of it all. It's like a journal, and you are almost guaranteed that nobody who shouldn't see it will, because the odds of anybody you actually know stumbling across one blog on the entire internet are so infintesmally small that they don't even need to be considered. And given how much personal information you can fake, these odds don't change much, even if they are consciously looking for it. So I get to enjoy the thereapeutic benefits of an anonymous online journal, but at the same time there is that hope there, that somebody somewhere will be reading it someday, and it will in some way, no matter how small, effect their life. Maybe even help them. I know that whenever I'm depressed, I just have to find the right random blog to read and I will instantly feel better. Sort of puts things in perspective for me. "Myspace," on the other hand doesn't work like that. There is this system of friends and friends of friends and it completely negates the anonymity of it. Then its just like a community journal were anybody who clicks opn your link can read your private thoughts. Fuck that. I don't care if strangers read my personal shit, but I don't want people I know reading it. What a terrible restricting thing. Then I would have to censor my writing just like I censor my speech, just so feelings wouldn't get hurt. This is the one time I enjoy the right to excercise free writing. I write exactly what I think, embellishing as I wish, and trying to apply some decent writing to it so I get the practice, but I'll be damned if I censor myself.

Typically I journal only when I'm lonely. I've been happily involved for the past three months, and journalling just isn't as useful when you are content. Besides that I've been working on other writing...a play, specifically, which I am stoked about. Not as stoked about most of the other plays coming out of that class. Meaningless, artless, drivel. Some people are not cut out to be writers. Maybe I am one of them. I like to think otherwise.

I'm on the cusp of completign my first actual scenic design. The show goes up Sunday evening with a four day run, and I put the finishing touches on the set tomorrow. I must say that designing for the first time is the single most humbling experience any one person can endure. The worst part about it is I know that I would be having the time of my life, if it woren't for the fact that the technical director is such a fuckface under pressure. I seriously don't know how this guy got tenure. Bothers the fuck out of me that he can get away with treating his students like this. Not that I have to deal with it for much longer. I find out monday if my exchange goes through.

This is the singlemost important thing to me right now: Getting the fuck out of Dodge.