working out some recent thoughts

The sameness of most days makes it difficult to separate them except by remembering the means (recently, almost always a novel or movie) by which I've temporarily escaped from the tedium. I find my concentration reliably unreliable, so that all attempts to read books that are better for me, such as the several on philosophy I've collected recently, have failed pretty badly. I manage about twenty pages with constant interruptions as my mind wanders, and then retain almost nothing of it. This has always been a bad sign for me, as it indicates a sort of soul-deep boredom that does not respond well to ordinary entertainment. The best cure is one I have been without for so long that I don't even remember how to earn it anymore. Or so it seems- I'm certain if I wanted it less... like most things... Being needed by someone in a particular sense that few other people would be able or willing to embody is the most fulfilling state I've ever experienced. But most people past and perhaps before a certain age understandably prefer to reserve that sort of intimacy for people in whom they're interested romantically. At least, I've always found that to be so, and I can't exactly fault it, disappointing as it's been to be set aside. Even as I express happiness for a friend who has found someone, I always dread the moment where I step back in order to give their new relationship room to develop. That's the only thing about which I ever find myself feeling real jealousy- when the right to be a confidante and friend is cast at the feet of a stranger simply because they happen to be attractive and on their very best behavior during the heady days of infatuation. It's a completely different matter when they earn it. And I suppose, if I were to pursue a romantic relationship with someone, I might find myself allowed into that position again, but that isn't the order in which it feels natural for me to take things even if it's the way most people do it. I mistrust certain types of hormones far too much, I guess, to want to be their undeserving beneficiary.

Even at a couple of dollars a bag, as I was able to get at the Squirrel Hill library sale a few weeks back, I'm burning through novels at a completely stupid rate. I'm not sure I don't have what could be considered a weak addiction to them. At this rate, my mind will never improve. That thought should scare me out of my escapism, but it only makes me panic a little and sends me deeper. Since I can't have what I really want, what exactly does it matter- or so my brain seems to reason. I am apparently not very well wired.

Tonight I tried a slightly different method of distraction, and auditioned for a show. My voice wasn't nearly what it should've been, and I'm almost positive I won't get any sort of role. No matter how relaxed I otherwise am (and I was, despite the complexity of just getting to the music hall tonight, in which I was helped immensely by a very patient Dad) certain physical reactions always bother me. Tonight, it was a completely dry mouth and throat, which affected my tone with hoarseness and a lack of consistent control. I did my best to make up for it with diction and volume, and happily did manage to fill the audition room a number of times with some nice sounds... just, I'm afraid, not enough of them to make me a real candidate. It's too bad, because I know I could do well with a couple of the parts, but consistency is everything, including my main weakness, so that is probably that. In either case, having something to work on was a pleasant change. I need more of those, but opportunities are few.