There's Just Too Much Crap Everywhere

There's too much crap everywhere.

There's too much crap on my desk at work, there's too many voicemails that people are forwarding to me because they apparently don't have time to do their own work, there's too much rehearsing to do for two plays and work a full time job, there are too many movies and books I need to buy, there are too many dollars in my monthly car payments, there are too many debts I have to pay, there is too much work to do trying to re-schedule Acrobat and too many people to contact and too many people who don't reply with an answer. There are too many people in our house, too many people who drive on Dodge street, too much construction in this city, too much food to eat at Greek Islands, too many people waiting to sing their entry at karaoke, too many expectations from people who want other people who have too much to do already, too many unfinished projects I'm working on, too many assholes who tell me they think oral sex performed on a man is immoral "just because" while on a female it's fine because they're stubborn on nearly everything and refuse to be anything but a WILLFUL idiot for the remainder of their lives (there's only one person, really, but that's too many), too many people Eric and I should fingertrap, too much stale candy in this fucking candy dish on my desk, too many staples in this stapler, too many fast food prices breaking the $5 increment, too many taxes, too much crap left out on our kitchen counter (yes, yes, LEAVE the Miracle Whip out for hours and hours after you're done, there's nothing, NOTHING, like a nice big nearly-full jar of poisonous Miracle Whip, next to most of a tomato left out to rot after a couple slices are taken from it, Kevin, you lazy twat), too many stupid people who seem to be under the impression that actors are the ones who make movies and are apparently just like their characters, too many retarded lemmings running off cliffs, and too many fake plants and fake trees and fluorescent lights in the Corporate World.

And there aren't enough hours in the day to take care of this mess.

Four fucking voicemails. He forwards me FOUR fucking voicemails in the period of five minutes. Yeah, because I don't have enough to do, considering someone just LEFT this department even though there was ENOUGH to do between him AND me already, and they're not planning on having the 2 jobs anymore, just 1.

Corporate executives are fucking smart.

Fucking. Smart.

I'm going to type this now:

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I hate doing Shakespeare.

I know that's like the antithesis of theatre actor attitudes, but really, I do. I hate doing Shakespeare. It's not that I CAN'T do Shakespeare, I just hate doing it.

And I hate playing warriors. I really, really do. I have NO INSTINCTS when it comes to this shit - I don't KNOW what "one of the guys" sounds like or does or how they would interact or talk or move or gesture!!!

I have never, at any point, in my entire LIFE, been "one of the guys".

Fuck, if I get into an elevator full of men who are in business suits who are all laughing and chatting in that confident "group of guys" way, I fucking HOLD MY BREATH until I get off the elevator.

I hate doing Shakespeare.

I hate it.

I love watching it. I hate doing it myself.

I'm just going to start having tantrums on stage every time I speak. Either that, or maybe it'll help if I carry a raw slab of meat over my shoulder. And a club.

I hate gestures. Shakespeare gestures. I can do modern gestures just fine.

Auuughhh, I wish I enjoyed doing Shakespeare, but I don't.

Okay, let's see...let's look at my desk...how much more Corporate BULLSHIT do I have to do today?

Oh, right. Too much.