happy fun blog!

I got in to UVA.

W&M didn’t come today, so we’ll see what happens tomorrow. 

1. UVA decisions go live at 5pm today. W&M letters are in the mail as of yesterday. Would someone please explain to me why, now that it’s all actually happening, all the optimism I had in March decided to fly away?

3. Assessments are done. Stat test has been pulled out of my ass. Auditions are at 7. No Shame is still tentative, but I’ve got top men on the horn. Today is nuts.

52. I really need the opportunity to present itself, because I’ve got to fucking do this, and I know I’m not gonna take the initiative myself. Oh lawd.

1/2. Just another day living the dream. My world is beautiful. 

There wasn’t a time during the three months I worked on Sons of Ulster that this was not my favorite exchange:
CRAIG. What do you want?
PYPER. What you want. 
Just like everything else with me, I liked it because it was something I really wanted to say, and since truth is not exactly a close friend of mine when it comes to telling people what I think, hearing it aloud…I don’t know, it doesn’t make it more real, but it makes it accessible.
I believed I felt that way. I really did. I said I did. I said a lot of things that night that I’m not sure if I believe. But even then, I think I choose not to believe it because if I consciously knew it was true, I would be terrified. I’ve had almost 20 years to come to grips with the fact that I feel more deeply than the average bear, but it doesn’t make it easier to roll with. I’m OK with it, but how is everyone else going to handle it? To me, it’s just the way I process things; to the untrained heart, it’s shocking, it’s too much. I had to believe it because I know what I want. And I never, ever want this. And it’s only now, when it’s all but done, that I know I wanted it, and that it’s gonna take longer than I would have ever anticipated to walk away from it. I’m trying. I’m trying as hard as I can.
Truth be told, one of the reasons I want to get out of here is so I have an excuse to pipe up and only face two weeks of consequences, as opposed to two more years.      

I am at present sitting in the library, next to an Asian fellow wearing a red sweater and khaki pants. I haven’t checked for the red shoes yet, and I don’t really care if he’s wearing them or not, but the point is that I’m sitting next to Long Duck Dong and it’s so funny to me that I may not actually get this paper done…

…except I will, because it’s already a fucking day late. Sixteen year old Pay, we meet again.

1. So far, I have spent tonight watching old Weezer videos, crying over a sick puppy in Brooklyn, trying to figure out how to write a scene that is mostly direction, and overthinking everything. You’ll note that nowhere on the list was writing any of the three papers I have due at the beginning of this week. I am clearly doing the best I can to make this affair as ugly as humanly possible.

2. Also tonight, I saw Tommy for the second time. AMAZING show. And because it’s so amazing, I spent the last number and curtain call trying not to cry over the fact that I am willingly leaving this behind. I knew I could only keep it down for so long and I didn’t particularly want anyone to see me, so once it was over I hauled ass out of the theatre and behind PAC, where I proceeded to sob on the phone to Ian about how I can’t do this. That’s important, I suppose, but the actual reason this is on The List is because I need to put in words that through all the waterworks, my eye makeup stayed IN-FUCKING-TACT. That’s the kind of miracle cure I’m talking about.

3. But seriously, I really don’t know if I can do this.  

1. Is it bad that I’m trying to figure out how I could possibly fit “(I Never Loved) Eva Braun” into something? Yeah, I know there’s no way it couldn’t be about Hitler, but it’s such a good fucking song. That little interlude-y part after “Eva Braun wasn’t history/She wasn’t even part of my destiny/She never really fitted in the scheme of things/She was a triumph of my will” is just so…ahhh. I want it on television screens near you.
2. I’m doing something for the next No Shame if one or both of the following assumptions are true: (1) It’s the best I can possibly do with what little musical talent I have, or (2) I’m officially leaving, so it doesn’t really matter if I fuck up. I know what I’m ruining; all that’s left is to figure out whether to accompany it on guitar or bass.
3. In the past day or so, I’ve moved from nervousness to not giving a fuck. It’s nice.
4. It’s starting to look like this year might not end so pretty. I don’t care what I have to do - this shit is going to be perfect. I am not leaving this place on multiple bad notes.

The same day I realized I have $10.44 to live out the rest of April on, I get booked for my first ad in months! This time, I’m shilling Medicaid in Delaware. OK, so it’s not gonna be Hannah Montana money, but it makes the idea of scalping Conan tickets more realistic! And hey! Maybe after that I’ll have a little left over for New York, and I won’t have to work quite as long before we go. YEAHHHH MAKIN’ MONEY AWWWWW

This has somehow gone from “I don’t know why I’m still doing this, this is absolutely fucking stupid” to “oh my God if something doesn’t give soon, one of those Alien aliens is going to bust out of my chest”. I can’t do it anymore. Fabulous timing, too - I have gotten myself into what is probably the worst academic mess of my 14 years of schooling, and my energy kinda sorta needs to be going…you know…there. It’s not like I’m expecting anything, but Goddamn. This has gotten fucking excessive.

PAY SMASH.

OK, so it didn’t go as well as I might’ve liked. They only had me read for the character that is the polar opposite of what I generally do (as opposed to the character that is essentially a mean-spirited version of me and I could play well), and she went completely over my head. She’s not in my body; I don’t know how she thinks. I didn’t get to finish the scene, and they let me go without asking me to read anything else. Suffice it to say, I won’t be hearing from them any time soon.
I’m glad for the opportunity, and I wasn’t planning on getting cast either way, but all I really wanted was for my not getting cast to hinge on someone being better than me, not me sucking. Fine, maybe I didn’t suck, but I certainly didn’t get to show them what I can do. I guess, as trite as it sounds to me now, I let myself down. I was hoping that I could prove to myself that I can do something other than the funny best friend or the quirky girl. I’m not a romantic lead - that isn’t the world a short, average looking girl who’s a little too clever for her own good inherits. And maybe it’s better that I learn now than get crushed when I’m older. Doesn’t make it sting any less, but it’s something.

Breathe in, breathe out.

I am doing the best I can but even so I’m smashed under the weight of wanting things so badly it feels like something’s going to bust clean out of my chest. And everything I want right now is at that level, which is exhausting. Clarity, for good or ill, is coming soon for some, but others are just sitting there and laughing at me. Everything is so blindingly clear to me that it’s like getting whacked in the stomach with a bat to see it get left to die. (Apparently it’s a night for similes.) There’s just a month left, I’ve got to keep telling myself, but every day feels like at least a week. I’ll be grateful for that once it’s said and done, I’m sure; now it’s hell. I don’t want to leave. I have to if I get the chance, everyone’s told me that. Professionally, it couldn’t be more perfect. And on a mental level, God knows I need to put 100 miles between me and Richmond in order to leave this stupid, pointless, intoxicating thing behind and stop my heart from fucking eating itself. But I don’t want to leave. I want to stay here with them. As dysfunctional as it all is now, they are the best I’ve had, and I don’t think any rolling foothills or colonial kitsch will bring me the same thing. 

I love you. I love you. But leave me. 
-Federico Garcia Lorca, Blood Wedding

Some things:
1. Well, I auditioned for the Local Summer Shakespeare Festival, and for some reason they want to see me again tomorrow! Every new person I tell doesn’t make it any more real. The audition itself went so well that naturally I’m suspicious and I know there’s got to be a catch, but maybe, for once, things are as they seem…which is ironic, seeing as I got called back for Twelfth Night. Moving on!
2. I may or may not be scalping Conan tickets for Prissy’s birthday.
3. I have six days to research and write a 10 page paper on that one time Reagan thought it would be better to encourage apartheid than impose sanctions on South Africa and allow a 2% chance that the Cubans would come in and turn them into Commies. What’s more upsetting is that it’s making me nostalgic for a happier political climate.
4. The next time I’m in Norfolk, I’ll probably know where I’m going to school next year.
5. Is it bad that I’m hoping mainstage auditions present me with a conflict of interest in terms of saying yes to another school?
5a. Yeah, probably.
6. I really want to go back and tell fat 12th grade Prozac Pay that I can wear a size 4 for the first time since I was 8. LIVIN’ THE DREAM, Y’ALL!
7. Watching Glee alone is depressing as shit, and I will cry during every mashup.

His Royal Flyness is gracing RVA with his presence from today until Saturday afternoonish. On one hand I kind of wish I could fast forward to Sunday and reflect on what terrible things happened, but on the other, this shit is gonna be good.

I just really hope Ian doesn’t end up smacking a bitch like he plans to.