worn out

I feel like I begin every blog with the words: "I'm tired" or a variation thereof. (See? That was a variation in itself!) So "instead" of beginning in such a familiar fashion, I shall instead point to the fact that the "Nina Variations" is taking over my life.

Don't get me wrong, I love this show. It's brilliant, beautiful, poignant, has these wonderful moments, and has so much to say about life and relationships and communication. I love it. I also feel like I am part of the play. I feel like I am the characters, especially with EVERYTHING that's been going on. My emotions are played back to me on stage, and it's weird, but I feel like I am learning about myself. That's what theatre is all about.

It is currently 1am. We had a dress rehearsal tonight involving two runs of the show. Our call time was 6pm...and we ended around 12:30am. That's a long time to be anywhere. Our cast was a bunch of troopers. I'm proud of them. They've been very dedicated and have put in a lot of work. I know that is going to show in their performances this week. (So exciting!)

On another note: I keep being presented with sharp objects outside of my dorm room. At work, I was given the task of cutting something up. Sharp scissors. At the play, again, I was sent in search of scissors so that someone could cut duct tape to fit her heels in order to silence them on stage. (Stilettos, by the way, are LOUD on a hollow, wooden stage floor.)

And now that I'm back in my room, I happened to casually glance across my desk and notice that there is a thumb tack right there next to my computer. I thought that I'd gotten rid of all of them. They went in two batches: one Thursday night, the other this morning. I found one group of them Sunday morning when, unbeknownst to pretty much everyone, I was broadsided by spontaneous depression. Ergo, the necessity to get rid of them.

I know, most people don't use thumb tacks to cut themselves. I'm sure other people use knives and scissors and razor blades. Thankfully, I don't have the nerve to attempt severe cutting. I don't want to kill myself; I just want the physical pain to dull the emotional pain for awhile. And it's sort of worked. But not really, which, again, is good, because I don't want this to become any more of a habit than anyone else does.

Altogether, I've accumulated six (and a half) "cuts" on various parts of my body. They are healing, even though two were added Sunday morning. (Yeah...I skipped church and cut myself instead.) I have three on one arm, one on the other, two on my stomach, and a very small one on my right leg. I don't know why I'm going into this kind of detail. Honestly, this is probably freaking every reader out right now. (I know my audience is small already...I think it's probably shrinking by the second.)

I've come to the conclusion that it's a darn good thing I'm meeting up with a counselor on Thursday morning. I don't know how much longer I would have gone before things got REALLY bad.

PS. I'm running out of long-sleeved shirts to wear.