Under the right circumstances, a book can be more than a book, like the author was secretly spying on you and drawing inspiration from whatever drama you may have. Of course that’s ridiculous, but I don’t think I’ve ever read a book so applicable to my life as Will Grayson, Will Grayson.
It’s kind of like running into someone with the same name as you in a porn store (not that that has ever happened to me).
It’s not like all the drama in my life has miraculously disappeared as a result of reading this book. But it feels a little less like the end of the world and more like something that could be worked out.
It actually really wasn’t. Class was kind of blah. My piano lesson was difficult. Work sucked and I almost didn’t get to eat anything. I’m going back at 10:30 to keep working so that we can rehang all the frontlight for Tommy before 8:00 P.M. tomorrow. There is no area of my life that does not have tension in it and it was really starting to get to me.
Until I came home and saw this on the table:
My housemate borrowed it from the library. I’ve been meaning to read it, so that in itself is a plus.
But it also involves theatre. Which means the cover is actually most likely an image of some kind of light. Oddly enough, although I’m pissed off at theatre in general right now, I enjoyed geeking out for a second over that realization.