Shakespeare in the Grove last night was... eh.
Mum was in a really bad mood when we started out. She loosened up a lot by the end, but I feel really bad about her having to go with me, she didn't look like she was having too much fun. I adore Taming of the Shrew because it's funny. I don't think the theme still holds today, but it's a very witty play. Well, it wasn't last night. Nope. The costumes looked, well, ill-fitting and terrible. The actors yelled. I mean, they were outside, there were a lot of people, but they didn't deliver their lines well in my opinion. They just sort of yelled them, paused to laughter, and yelled some more. It felt like they were just simply yelling their lines. No feeling, just yell, pause, yell some more. The music just cut off suddenly every five minutes so we could hear the actors yell some more and blahblahblah... it was community theatre, though. Can't expect too much.
So a drowsiness seems to have befallen everyone. Not anything literal, or anything noticable, but just, just ever so slightly abnormal. Everyone seems to be in a trance. It's so easy to fall into it, too. To forget the meaning of words and of actions, to just see them play. It doesn't mean that no one is energetic, but no one is absorbing anything. It's the curse of summer holidays, I guess.
But I feel like I'm always this drowsy. It's not depression or that I'm not feeling as though I'm a part of anything, on the contrary, I'm quite a whole. But I feel like nothing ever changes. I could be in California, and I'd feel like I were still at home. I could be shaking hands with the president and I'd feel like I were watching it on tv. I could be in Norway and feel just as warm as though it were Florida. But not literally. Like I'll be the same everywhere I go. That people are all going to act the same towards me, that no place gives its people qualities that differ greatly from any other place with any other peoples. And life just gets kind of sleepy. I wish life could get a bit more awake than this.
Well. Yes. I think too much. I guess feeling asleep is better than, I dunno, feeling like your foot is in a bucket of cheese whiz. Or peeled grapes, that can be pretty nasty. My diary is a pretty darn boring place, I've decided. It's like a wasteland of creative-less boredom smothered in bad ideas and even worse feelings and with a big cherry of dullness on top. I think I've failed. Yep, I'm a failure. I'm a diaryland disgrace. Look, I can't even pull off good alliteration! I'm just terrible!
I mean, c'mon, I could use funny titles from Monk (like today's title) all the time, and no one cares. I could tell you my recent theory on the kitchen ghost (the ghost in my kitchen), but no one would care. I could tell you how I think it's Ben Franklin coming back for revenge considering the fact that he's haunted me every way but physically for a year because I hate his book. But you wouldn't care if it were Ben Franklin or Ben Stiller or Ben Affleck. Nope! Well, I'd care if Ben Stiller or Ben Affleck were haunting me, but that's why I'm a disgrace! I should be ashamed! I should be kicked off and made to live on mediocre blog sites that no one reads. People like my other diaries that shall remain un-revealed! But no one should like me. I should stop blogging here and now.
Diaryland, you fickle friend (bad alliteration!), you treat me so unfairly, yet too fairly for an atrocity as my self.