sketchbooks aren't as important as informal complaints.

Most importantly, it's only a couple weeks into senior year, and I really, really just want to graduate. Now. Now Now Now. Unilife is holding me back...from everything. Except misery. It's definitely not holding me back from misery.

Also most importantly, I miss England more than I could ever describe. And it's near impossible to bear since two good friends of mine are going abroad in three days on the same program I did a year ago. It's devastating how much I need to be there.

Basically, I can't have the things that I want most. And I hate when that happens because apparently, it makes me a terrible, non-creative writer.

I somehow need to turn misery into inspiration, or at least motivation of some sort. In Greek tragedy, there was the moment of reversal directly following the climax. If mine has just happened, I hate it. I shall not be Oedipus. In any fashion besides theatrically surviving for centuries, preferrably.

My focus shall now turn left and target itself onto researching, preparing, and ideamaking for the next play I'm directing. Ironically, titled 'Catastrophe.'