Light at the end of the tunnel, motherfuckers. I'm hoping my goal of having a completed draft before starting rehearsals for my next show comes to pass. SO FUCKING CLOSE!!!
It's at this weird point where I can't stop writing, can't step away from it, yet somehow am also repelled by it, like I can see the potential for how it could be, but fear that I'm fucking it up at the same time.
Oh well. At least it'll be my fucked-up baby if nothing else.
Even if you have a cleft-palate, mentally deranged, psycho-retard baby, you still love your baby, right?
Even as it disgusts and appalls people and drives them to madness and suicide... :-)
That's the plan, anyway.