(does no one else update their diaries anymore? the only ones on my long buddylsit who have been updating lately are those at the very top and bottom, tis kinda creepy.)

My chest has been sore all day

this morning it hurt the most

as if somehow in the middle fo the night, someone stepped on my, pressed a foot between my breasts and stodd, to reach soemthign higher than themselves.

I have so many ambitions, and so few real plans. The list of what i want to become is still a mile long. I narrowed down my field and thought that was the end of it, but then, i foudn there was so much more to decide, yeah you wanna do theatre, thats great, now here is alist of 725 different jobs you coul dhave

i want to write the great american novel, i want to understand humans, i want to make characters alive on stage, i want to direct i want to act i want to write i want to run lights, stage manage, writ ethe show, run sound, i want to do everything

it brings a whole knew meanign to one -man show.

i will probably end up leading others to their peak, the one stepped upon on the aldder to the tap, while i am busy trying to figure out which later to climb.

a foot print left apon me, on my skin, beneath it. to make me sore in the mornings