At Five in the Morning.

I can't sleep.

I can't remember the last time I actually slept under my sheets and blankets, instead of on top of them all, covered only by a brown throw my mother got from Target when I complained about freezing my ass off in my dorm room. I sleep on top of the bedding for no apparent reason, just because I think it's comfortable, because it reminds me of taking a nap, and because this way I don't have to make my bed.

When I was little, I was plagued by horrible cases of insomnia that were not, in fact, insomnia, but the inability to sleep due to an overactive imagination and an irrational fear that something was going to happen to me while I was sleeping. This is what happens when your parents let you watch whatever the hell you want on TV before you are rational enough to distinguish between fiction and non. I remember seeing the first ten minutes of an episode of Law and Order where Jerry Orbach or Jesse L. Martin or someone discovered a woman murdered in her bed, her arm splayed over the side, hanging limp and dripping blood. For a good four months I slept with my arms under my body, as if this would prevent that from happening to me.

Eventually I got over it, and I was able to sleep soundly and effortlessly every night, with a few exceptions including the night before the first day of school every year and my first night in Canyon Point A6-304B. It isn't that I am falling back into my old habits tonight, it's just that I have a lot going on in my brain - too much to let it rest long enough to fall into that static-y haze necessary to bring about sleep.

I think about The Sidewalk and how big of a deal this is for me; how this is the next step for me, and although it isn't much of a step at all, it is a chance, once again to prove myself, to show people that I know what I'm doing, that I am a talented capable director, and that I can act, believe it or not. It feels foolish to have to constantly prove myself to the people in this town, when, at UCLA, I never felt that I had to prove anything. Here, Cabaret showed the 300+ people that saw it that I think differently than the other people in Antelope Valley theatre, which isn't saying much, but it's something. Yet I was still passed over numerous times (and once quite noticeably - and offensively) for directing slots this year, gaining the spot I have by my own self-promotion and Danise's apparent approval of the script. As much as I would rather be working on a musical right now - or on a play that I didn't write, I'm happy to be bringing this piece to audiences (albeit only two of them) and grateful to be given the chance to share these stories with people who are not used or accustomed to the kind of play that I have written. While its structure, content, and style may seem commonplace and maybe even trite and boring in larger, more cultured communities, here, in the good ol' A.V., it is radical, new, and unexpected. After all, this is the town of The Fairy Godmother Flies and Glama and whatever that melodrama show was that Palmdale Repertory Theatre produced this year that I didn't see. This is the town of asinine, absurd, sub-par original works that are treated with the same "let's-put-on-a-show!" lack of seriousness and devotion that has made me leave shows at intermission once or twice in the past. And by "once or twice," I hope you know what I mean. I try to be open minded - I try to sit through shows if there are redeeming factors. I mean, I saw Homer in Cyberspace TWICE, for the love of God. But the lack of professionalism - and not just the lack, the complete disregard for professionalism - in the Antelope Valley is what I have been saying for years is my battle, is what I am trying to change, is what I need to conquer. I respect these towns and the theatre here, because, without it, I probably would not have decided to devote my life to theatre. Without it, I wouldn't know that it's bad, I wouldn't know that there is anything to change or fix. I would just be doing plays in my spare time and spending the rest of it doing God only knows what. That's why I care so much. That's why I want to elevate the theatre here to the next level, to the level and respect that Los Angeles and New York and even smaller towns have for the most beautiful art form ever created.

I also think about Hunter, while I'm lying here in the blue TV screen light. I think about how I miss him when we're not together, I think about how amazingly lucky I have been these past three and a half months, and how grateful I am for him, for his love, and for the ability to love him. I think about how amazing he is, and how he can fight the hell out of this - that if anyone can kick the shit out of cancer, it's him - the strongest, most incredible, beautiful human being that ever existed. I think about him sleeping yesterday, his fingers interlaced with mine, and his face resting on my other hand. I think about watching him and seeing him (which are not the same thing) and knowing that there is nothing to be afraid of, and no reason to be scared about anything - cancer, my show, school - not anything. I think about him imitating Wall-E today, and making a joke about skeletons in the closet a couple weeks ago, and I smile and I relax and I mellow out.

Life and love are beautiful things, and I have learned, just recently, not to take either for granted.

I'm going to sleep now.
Good morning.