Another night of Chekhov (three short stories and a short play), and I'm exhausted. Not from the Chekhov, just haven't been sleeping enough. I'll have to read those now, too.
Finished the second version of The Three Sisters, and seem to have misplaced Othello. I could borrow another copy, but I think I'll work on one of the contemporary monologues in class this week, instead. I've been having trouble figuring out the motivation for one, and could use new eyes on it. Or choose a different monologue from the play where intentions are more clear. I mean, she wants him to leave here, but there are a lot of different ways to say that or mean that; and I haven't been able to get clear on the how. She doesn't want him to go away forever, just right now. He doesn't seem to really have boundaries, or get hers.
What keeps us from waking up even when we know it would be a good thing to do? What makes us think anything will ever change when day after day things play out the same? There probably is a place you could let yourself be fulfilled, less tortured, loved...what keeps us from going?
Fk. It's all just making me lose faith in myself, that things will ever change, or that I'm anything more than a dilettante. Cure for that is to work, but I need to find a new way of doing that, 'cos what I'm doing now isn't making any difference. I feel like I'm stagnating or sliding backward. I'm just feeling out of my league.
Fail better. Fail more.
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