11:58 a.m. - November 25, 2002
The Ghost in the Bell Tower
This is the second entry of the day, and it's not even noon yet. Go figure. I've got a copy of Sweet Valley Twins (The Ghost in the Bell Tower)next to me. And I feel silly reading a book that has passed its prime for me--but I'm waiting for Wednesday (huh, gotta love that phrase--I will put the lyrics at the end of this entry, I promise) to start reading a real book.

(A real book, by my definition, consists of something over 150 pages, and has slightly more mature topics than the Unicorn Club.)

(Hello to all of you who are finding my diary. Hi. Feel free to sign the book or drop a line.)

I never did mention that my brother's senior class play was on Friday night--it was completely and wonderfully awesome. I kid you not. It made me jealous that our Senior class play was sort of a bust--ours was supposed to be a comedy--well, a black comedy--but it wasn't funny. Quite honestly, I think it was really quite boring. Anyway, my brother's play was A Christmas Carol and they had the tiniest freshman play Tiny Tim (Beth, I swear this kid was smaller than Rob C., you know which kid I mean?). And this kid had the most beautiful voice--he sang "The First Noel" over and over again...

And the end of the play, all the cast came out and sang The First Noel, starting with the leads, then trickling out to the very minor characters (like my brother, who played "Boy at Crossroads" and "Want". The kid must have had about 4 lines. And he looked like he needed a flea bath when he was Want.)

In short, the play was amazing.

And for those of you who were wondering about my amber ring (go back 2 entries to read about it)...I may or may not have more creative energies. Last night I had the inspiration to do a series of fictional nonfiction (huh? you say) writings, collecting dialogues I have with strange people--for those of you who don't know, I attract strange people like a moth to a flame...hence I have slightly surreal conversations with people I don't know. So I was thinking about how some of those could me fleshed out into short skits or short plays...what do you think?

And I finished of a scarf, if you call k1,p1 (knit one, purl 1) creativity.

Waiting for Wednesday by Lisa Loeb

Waiting for Wednesday, my stomach doesn't hurt enough,
pain always is the sign.
Waiting for Wednesday, no proof of mine exists,
so I don't have to take it back.

Don't want to show you good-bye,
show you good-bye.
show you good-bye.
show you good-bye.

But you're waiting for Wednesday.
Waiting for Wednesday.
Waiting for Wednesday,
I pray you'll put me on the spot.
I do believe you, that you'll love me that you'll leave me.

What will I do when you come near to me?
you'll put me on the spot.
You've been doing this a long, long time,
not that you're better than me,
but that you do it a lot.

Now I'm waiting for Wednesday,
waiting for Wednesday,
waiting for Wednesday,
waiting for Wednesday.

I'm gonna show you good-bye,
show you good-bye,
show you good-bye,
show you good-bye.

Now I'm waiting for Wednesday,
you're back from out of town,
the West is dry, your mind is clear,
and I don't want to be here,
I don't want to be here,
I don't want to be here,
to show you good-bye.

and I'm waiting for Wednesday,
waiting for Wednesday, to show you good-bye.

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