The two theatre history classes I have every Tuesday and Thursday are, in fact, so similar that they could really be one class. I have a sneaking suspicion that, while one deals with African-American plays and the other with Asian-American plays, that 90% of our lectures/class discussions are going to be damn near identical.
I would rather be writing and watching baseball tonight than working at the theatre. On this particular evening, those things just feel more important to me.
The blog is heartbroken, but not me. And it stands to be mentioned that the only way to un-break a heart is to discover that it was never really fractured in the first place.
A frog is a poem. With long skinny stanzas that are designed for leaping and a tongue built for catching punctuation from the sky.
I am an impostor of a Californian.
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