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Push.

Gear up. Wind in my face. Legs moving now. A solitary experience, one that allows me time with my thoughts. Double-edged sword, that.

Dad thoughts. (Pedal harder.) Job thoughts. (Pedal harder.) What about the future? (Faster.) I've got nothing to eat at home. (Push.) God, I want to taste a woman's inner thigh. (Faster, faster.)

Top gear now. Legs screaming. Breath coming in ragged...
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'evening, all.

So, it's official. I'm working on a touring Shakespeare-in-the-Park show this summer. I'm the LD / TD, and we're touring right across Ontario. I'm pretty fucking chuffed, let-me-tell-You!

Good shows, too. A Winter's Tale, and Complete Works. A full-equity cast, which is fucking weird, since I never work a union gig. Still... I'll take their money. It all spends the same, no?

Woo-hoo!...
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VIEW 3 of 3 COMMENTS
dollface:
wow, that's weird. i work at second city.... shocked
tiree:
Have you decided on what kind of lettering you want?
Do you like pain? Or do you just want it to be a memorable experience?
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She said it was just a figment of speech
And I said "You mean figure" And she said "No, figment"
Because she could never imagine it happening. But it did

When we first met I played the Shy boy
When she spoke to me for the first time my nose began to bleed
She guessed the rest

The next day we went on a bus...
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Went for my daily bike ride today down by the bay. Beautiful day. I usually do 35km, but it was so nice today I did another three laps... so... 49km? I guess that's right. The way my legs are screaming at me, it feels right.

So there was a girl on the trail today. (Isn't there always?) I recognized her -- she must be a...
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I went home this weekend.

See, it should be a festive, positive, relaxing thing, but I dread going home sometimes. I feel suffocated, impotent, unable to function. If I could just shut down all of my senses and receivers, it would be bearable. But I can't, so it isn't.

Have you ever heard your father crying in the dead of night? I have. Pain so...
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I used to be a gearhead, I swear. I went to school to study technical theatre -- it was almost part of the package to concern myself with the latest gadgetry. I had the computer (desktop, and laptop) the palm pilot (Are they still called palm pilots? Or are they 'blackberries' now?) the cellphone, CD, TV, Mp3, blah, blah, blah.

Something happened along the way....
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I missed a day in my journal. 30 lashes with a wet noodle for me.

My friend Megan says that I should write. Keep a journal to put the shit in my head down on paper. The idea being that I won't twist myself in knots with guilt / grief / worry / insecurity, if all of that shit is down on paper, instead of...
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go visit Rob and Ramon at butternutsquash.net -- they're really nice guys.
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Good things are happening.

Somehow, I'm not hungover. This mystifies me. See, as an almost-thirty-year-old, my ability to rebound from a night such as last night has been eroded by years of abuse and neglect... so when a miracle like this happens, I'm left wondering -- why am I not suffering? What did I do right?

My friend Paul presented me with a burned copy...
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3:48 a.m., Sunday morning.

Just got back from Toronto. Went to celebrate my friend Steven's birthday in grand style. We closed out Pauper's Pub on Bloor. mmmm, Strongbow. Note to self: Buy some of that, and soon.

Met a girl. Gorgeous. Way out of my league. For some reason, kept making eyes at me all night. (must be my '4-H' Tee...) Turns out, she's a...
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