Don’t ask me how my weekend was – I hate questions like that. I did have a sex-dream where I had sex with myself, like I had sex with a whole other Anoush who was a man. She was a tad meatier than I was, not chubby – just… I don’t know, just healthier. She was cute. (I was the woman, though, in my dream.) I was embarrassed about how much I enjoyed/was comfortable with the idea. I saw someone from UCB waiting outside, kind of like… oh, this is what all the cool people in Chelsea are doing – having sex with themselves – so it’s not weird that i’m doing it.

I found out i’m EXTREMELY self conscious – not just selfconscious – selfconscious. we were takign turns doing monologues based on suggestions from the class/audience and I had a crystal-clear story but another classmate stepped out at the exact same time and I so easily invited him to do his story instead of mine. My teacher gave me a raised-eyebrow look/smirk kind of like… Anoush… Then i realized I should’ve just stood up there and done it (like last week – last week’s was great). It hurt to stand there (even though his story was so good) standing there… knowing I was a coward. I cried the whole ride home on the train. (I’m a coward – i have to go home to my house (which isn’t a horrible thing, some people have fathers/mothers who beat them, or some people are poor, so perspective-perspective-perspective) I don’t want to go home to this shit and that shit and your shit and his shit, and I’m just so sad. I’m really just so sad.

I went and hung out with Amenda Fleming, went shopping, talked talked talked and had dinner while watchign 3rd Rock From the Sun episodes. I had such a good time – it was the healthiest thing i’ve done in a while. I haven’t talked so much in a while because I don’t usually speak. It felt great. Then i took the train home to this shit and his shit and her shit and our shit.

Then I woke up and watched a few episodes of Married with Children and then went into the city to my class — the class where I found out i am a coward. I bought a black denim skirt – one that will go with so many different things. My tears were warm and wet. I mean, my face was warm and wet. I listened to that Charles Aznavour song about 4 times in a row. I cried quiet on the train then walked to my house crying loud. What do I do? You know? What do I do?

You know what else I think? I think most of the friends I’ve made at Purchase aren’t real friends. I think most of the friends I’ve made anywhere aren’t real friends. i don’t care how many facebook pictures we have with each other. I have these people, here, who are great for bouncing ideas off of, and who help me become better at what I do; then I have these people here who’re just people. I’m looking for people who won’t eat me.


One Response to “Nothing”

  1. Man, do I have stories that beat your monologue thing for embarrassment– from later class levels, too.

    The great thing for self-conscious fucks like us is that this stuff makes us get past it. Next time, you WILL do your monologue, because you’ll get that you stepped out and it’s your turn– and then, that’ll translate from improv into life, and you WILL bloodeblah the blahdeebloo.

    Improv = therapy OMG!

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