Fresh Sub Bread.

I'm really pissed that the new episode of Glee that aired tonight that I missed isn't on Hulu yet because apparently it's supposed to be really good. It's regionals, someone dies, and there might be something finally happening with Kurt and Blaine. Not really sure on that last one though. I know that this is always the way it goes. Hulu does a good enough job posting the episode the day after it airs, but I'm anxious to see it. Hopefully it will be up by midnight or one in the morning. That's when I'll be getting home anyhow, so that's convenient. 
Darla sent me a message on Facebook with a video enclosed. It was a song by a pretty boy named Patrick Wolf called "The Sun is Often Out." She titled the subject one of the saddest songs I've ever heard. And I appreciate the gesture, but the song tells a boy who committed suicide that he will be missed. I, as I often do, imagined myself singing this somewhere. But I would probably not make it through without crying. It was sad. And all too relevant. It would maybe be something good to sing October of next year. I had the song playing as I wrote that, and I cannot listen to it again. And I probably won't, for many months because it makes the back of my neck hot and makes me think again of how awful that whole experience felt and continues to feel. It's been a little over five months now, and I found myself reaching for my phone to text message Gibran the other day when I saw a girl named Mallory from middle school at the Eegee's on Campbell the other day. What a strange sensation that was. And what a coincidence that later that day I would be filling in as stage manager for KIMBERLY AKIMBO listening to a short monologue about someone being a fixture in your life, and having to remind yourself they're not there any more.
It might seem, through this blog, with the amount that I write about Gibran that I think about him constantly, and that I grieve constantly, and that it's something that I can't let go of. This is only somewhat true because I do think of him often, but not often in a terribly sad way. Like.. I think about him when I make microwave popcorn, or see Tapatio hot sauce. Or when I or anyone else says the word "tad." Sometimes when I dry my face on a bathroom towel, and when I hear Fall Out Boy's "From Under The Cork Tree" album, or Panic! at the Disco!'s "A Fever You Can't Sweat Out." When I pass Hat Club in the mall, or see Katy Perry, or look at my old packages of neon makeup. Sometimes when I use the Gaussian Blur effect on Photoshop, and all the time when I'm in a car going down Flowing Wells.
I'll try to moderate that subject for a bit.


I've just noticed that I only use the right shift button. Which is uncommon I think. We used to have a keyboard at home that had a broken left shift button, so I had to retrain myself to use the right one. I've never stopped. There are some rowdy, drunk, and laughing, mexican hooligans outside of the theatre right now that are making me nervous. I hope to god they don't come in here, or see me through the blinds. Please. Please. Please. I think about that shit all the time.