Here I sit at my desk at work at 7:54pm, waiting for the last 6 minutes of this part of my day to pass. Next I drive to a rehearsal for a scene I'm doing at the request of a friend. The drive will take 20 minutes or so and I will arrive around 8:25 to rehearse a 5-minute scene for more than an hour, most likely. How could it take over an hour to do a 5-minute scene, you might ask? Because we drag our heels through every twist and turn of phrase in this poorly written drivel which we actors agreed to do. Next time I'll read the script first, I think. The script of this scene makes me sometimes visualize shooting myself in the face.
7:56. I'm a fast typist.
I wouldn't hold the gun in my mouth. I'd shoot diagonally through one cheek sort of up and back, towards the back of my skull. I think then I'd hit major areas of the brain, ensuring avoidance of vegetablism. No - not vegetarianism - vegetablism - vegetativism - living-void. I do not desire to be a zucchini, thank you.
At least if I were in a coma or otherwise vegetative state I would hope that someone would come in and do my hair. Beauty school students should be allowed to practice on coma patients instead of those plastic heads. It would make for more interesting tv shots when the coma patients' spouses try to pull the plug. Poor Terri Schiavo. Her hair looked awful!
8:00 pm.
Gotta go.
M
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