Wish me luck...
Last night, I went to the Brick Playhouse in Philadelphia and applied to become a member--as a playwright. Now, I'm sitting on pins&needles, because everything I've ever written--poetry, music, short stories, plays--has been rejected. However, I honestly do think that my stuff is as good as theirs--why shouldn't I get in? But, as usual, I'll sit here with an ulcer, expecting to be rejected and waiting for the time when they do so.
And of course it's finals week; my acting partner won't even call me back so that we can reherse. He's gonna make us fail, and I'm going to have to murder him in a most torturous way. At least it'll releave the tension.