Love

It's so strange how there are two areas of my life to which my heart heads when one or the other becomes too unbearable. It's as if I'm walking on a tightrope. On one end, there is a safe, but noisy and chaotic room that never seems to end in its tipping, clanging scales and understated cabarets. The other side is a room with an unending masquerade ball, in which the masks only come off when one believes too deeply. Everyone seems to look so majestic in their ball gowns and airs, while I'm still in my tight-rope walking, practical clothing desperately trying to draw on a good mask to hide the vulnerabilities and frailties.

At the moment, I'm loving the rowdy informal room a lot more. The drama that supposedly happens in show choir hasn't caught up to me until now. Of course, it's fairly mild, but that doesn't mean that it's not making me feel more vulnerable. Ironically, these buzzing rumors have helped me fit in! Still, the tight rope hasn't quite stopped wobbling. At some points, I feel as if I'm barely hanging on.

All these disappointments that I feel mix with the soap opera that runs through my head whenever I grow bored of reality. I was going to write a script about it, but I don't feel comfortable doing that. It seems to lack the artistic element that I love in poetry and that I highly tolerate and admire in novels and especially in short stories. I think I'm going to give up Script Frenzy. Maybe I'd be more commited to it if I had the time. Yet, I don't have the time or the motivation for it. Right now I'm wishing for the next noveling challenge. Apparently the Labor Day challenge had an entrance fee, so I don't think I'm going to do it. It would be fun, but I'm not sure fifty dollars is worth it. Maybe I'll just do it for my own sake and not be an official participant.