I'm telling you, I got so spoiled on vacation, and I don't mean all Christmasly by my Mom.

Every day was just so full of activities and thoughts and experiences and things that every entry was a joy to write. Since I've gotten back, though, I have forgotten how to spin a dull day, and it's just been "Went to work, wasn't so bad, David Morse is really fine," over and over again, ad infinitum, ad nauseum.

It's funny, on Journal L the other day the discussion was about what are the entries that are hardest to write, and everyone was talking about, you know, deaths and diseases and horrors and hard times, but for me, those are the easy ones to write. You couldn't stop me from writing about when my father died, it was what I had to do--the hardest ones for me are the days when nothing happened and my mind is a blank.

Of course, to answer the question fully, the ones that are hardest to write are the ones that I don't write at all, or rarely, the ones that make me look weak. I don't mind telling stories on myself from when I do something stupid or silly, particularly if I can make it funny, but I don't want to let you guys know how human I am, how powerless and limp I am, not really.

I am The Mighty Kymm, man! I'm funny and smart and I fucking rule the world! Pay no attention to the girl behind the curtain...

That said, yesterday I went to work--it wasn't so bad. Have I mentioned yet that David Morse is really fine?

Ha! O, I kill me.

I got my Crossing Guard DVD yesterday, the one I got off Ebay, and watched it last night. Excellent movie, even if Sean Penn is a bit enamoured with long silent bits full of pain and meaning and portent that don't always quite come off. Jack Nicholson gives a very unmannered performance, and his scenes with Anjelica Huston are awfully layered with history, in a way that you can't get when the actors first meet each other on the first day of shooting.

And David Morse, besides giving a very powerful performance, looks like a fucking god. Those arms, those shoulders, that chest, I swear, I practically fainted.

I don't know but that I need to get out more.

So I've been casting my new show. What new show? The show that I was shanghaied into directing, thank you very much!

While I was at home, I got a weepy, whiny email from Cynthia, begging me to direct this Moliere play that has a huge lead for her that Le didn't want to give to a new director, and Cynthia was afraid that she would end up with one of our crappier old directors, so she was all "Please please please PLEASE direct this show!" so of course I said yes, because whining works.

Only later did I discover that there are ten fucking people in this show, and almost all of my first cast turned me down due to being in other shows and being out of town and having complicated lives and things, and I just know that this is going to be a massive pain.

Fortunately, it's a swell script or I'd never forgive Cynthia for this.

A rash of tests is sweeping Diary L, and I thought I'd take the dog test, to find out what dog I am most like. Well, the results are:

At first, I thought "Yorkie! I'm no stinkin' Yorkie!" but then I read the definition, and thought that it pegged me pretty well. I suppose all there is left to say is, yap! Yapyapyap!

Today's horoscope:
A loved one needs more sensitivity, intuition and gentleness from you. Don't feed excessive dependency. Be kind but firm.

One year ago today:
"Shh, be quiet, you'll scare it away!"

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Last Updated Wed 12 January 10:47:09 2000