Below are the 3 most recent journal entries recorded in liveisaac's LiveJournal:

Tuesday, February 15th, 2005
12:53 am	Apologies for the morose entry that preceded this one. Rupert is dead. Just as I was sitting down to work on the play, I heard a distinctive snap from the kitchen, and opened my bedroom door to see the little guy struggling under the trap. I watched, horrified, until he stopped moving. Even though I was disgusted to hear him rummaging through my room or spot him running through the living room, I still felt terrible about offing him. He just wanted some organic peanut butter. Kim was falling asleep in her room, and I woke her up to ask her to help me clean it up. She hesitated, saying that she was just about to fall asleep. Her exact response was: "Right now?" I said to her, "You want to leave a dead mouse in her kitchen overnight?" Then I said, passive-aggressively, "Never mind, I'll just clean it up myself," which got her out of bed and into the kitchen to help me. I think I need to live alone. Current Mood: mellow Current Music: "Wedding Day," Rosie Thomas (3 Comments |Comment on this)
Monday, February 14th, 2005
9:16 pm	No surprises here on Valentine's Day. It rained pretty much all day, keeping me from "strolling" through the Gates, solo and soul-searching, as I'd planned. So after playwriting I went straight to Union Square for a really devastating therapy session. Apparently my horrendous first sexual experience has scarred me more than I've realized. Usually I go through the day with the appropriate filters on here. I mean, I work in Times Square and I run around like it's Ohio. I forget that the buildings are tall and flashing and that there are a million people around me. We all do that, living in New York -- for the sake of our senses and sanities, we filter it all out except for Point A and Point B. But as I walked to the A from my therapist's office, I felt a sea of people coming at me, and with each one who pushed past me, I got a little more lost and out of sorts. I just wish that my first time had instilled in me some sort of sexual confidence. But it did the exact opposite. In my sexy priest's class today we talked about Rollo May's notion of social courage: "the courage to relate to other human beings, the capacity to risk one's self in the hope of achieving meaningful intimacy. Intimacy requires courage because risk is inescapable." I hope to some day soon be a courageous person. Current Mood: lonely Current Music: "The Professor," Damien Rice (1 Comment |Comment on this)
2:34 am	My very first time. This seemed a much more worthwhile endeavor than writing a one-page paper for my senior values class answering that oft-asked question, "Is creativity a conscious choice?"  The professor is a very, very sexy actor/priest, which was one of the main reasons I took the class, and I have to say that shallowness does not a smart decision make.  No matter how "Thornbirds" I hope it will be, I'm still writing a paper for him and he's still going home to Jesus.  Nobody's happy.  Except Jesus, maybe. My thesis, however, I think is touching, at best.  It's probably something I'll look back on when I'm sixty (or twenty-two) and go, "Aww... what a naive, young thing."  Here it is: "Creativity is not only a conscious choice, but a choice that we owe to the evolution of humanity to make."  It seems sweet, but it's also 2:14 in the morning. Tonight at the Duke, a young, teenaged girl came up to buy two student tickets for tonight's final performance of "Carolyn Dorfman Dance: Journeys."  We were sold out, but I was holding some seats in case of an emergency, so I put her at the top of the waiting list.  She was very nervous and shy, but horribly polite and endearing.  She sat in the lobby for forty-five minutes, waiting for her name to be called, which it was, and when she purchased her tickets she left one for her friend.  "He's going to think that he needs to buy a ticket, but I bought it for him," she barely whispered.  Then she went in, and the show started.  I left a half an hour after the show started, and he had yet to show up.  The thought of that girl in there, all dressed up, meek and trembling, being stood up made my blood boil.  I wanted to take her into my arms and say, "It's okay, honey.  Men are shit.  It's best you learn that now, so you can devote the rest of your adolescence to developing a really killer sense of humor." She really got to me, though.  I guess it's only fitting that this happened on the eve of Valentine's Day, a day I regard with almost as much disgust as the day George W. Bush made his paltry initial pledge for the tsunami victims, knowing full well his $40 million inaugural ball was approaching.  Apologies to any die-hard Republicans who are reading this.  Apologies to anyone who is reading this, in fact.  Who IS reading this?  No.  I revoke my apologies to die-hard Republicans who are reading this.  That's what you get.  I hope you feel as out of place reading this journal entry as you did in New York City in August. Kim and I have a mouse in our apartment.  I had a mouse in my apartment in Brooklyn, whom I aptly named Phillip.  Phillip would listen to me.  I'd see him running down the hall toward me, and I'd say, "Phillip, no!  Go back the other way!" and he'd obey.  Phillip and I had an understanding.  This new mouse, the Washington Heights mouse, whom I've named Rupert, cares not for my wishes.  I was awakened last night by the sound of rustling through some papers that had piled up on the floor in my room.  What went through my head was: "That could either be a ghost trying to find the contact information of the actors currently cast in my play, or a mouse eating its way through my personal belongings."  I turned on the light, made a lot of noise in the bed to scare it off, then proceeded to clean my room top to bottom at 4:30 in the morning.  It was quite productive.  My room looks great.  I bought the snap traps, since the glue traps look terrifyingly painful (I convinced myself that the snap traps are a quick death, provided the bar hits Rupert where it counts) and the humane traps are ridiculously inconvenient (you have to take the mouse a mile away from your home to ensure it won't return).  That's what I'll say for the people in this world who are inhumane -- it's more convenient.  So now Kim and I have about twelve traps set up throughout our apartment.  Overkill?  Nah.  A new decorating scheme?  You bet.  We put organic peanut butter on the traps, figuring Rupert could at least go out eating well, and prayed that we wouldn't get hungry and wind up trapped ourselves. More animal news in Washington Heights: there is a stray cat that is in the hottest heat hanging out in the alley behind my building for the past week, and that cat screams and hisses and sings and moans like Janis Joplin.  It's a nightmare.  Bitch, I'm not getting laid either, but you don't hear me screaming and hissing.  Well, not yet.  Happy Valentine's Day, all. Current Mood: calm Current Music: "Cordova," Indigo Girls (3 Comments |Comment on this)