big frightening eyes and a terrified snarl of a mouth

set in a wide smile against mine as his body slides out of the door. The walls are rotting and we all must be sure we do one smart thing right every time to preserve insanity living with four unparticular strangers.

I feel my heart racing with frustrated energy. I feel a cold bath-the want of a warm one to startle and soothe that bleeding muscle out of this insect wing flapping chatter it runs along. I thought today on the train..."A good line would be...A good line would be I hope you overdose on anti-depressants and choke on your own tears." I thought a good exchange might be "And you're hoping he overdoses on antidepressants and chokes on his own tears...tsk tsk. This applesauce is amazing. All these little chunks of apple. It's homeade, is it?"

I think of such strange things. So now how do I incorporate that into something? That dry British wit (which I have recently fallen in love with as I have recently auditioned with a dry British monologue.) I was not cast.

I will never be cast. I pray for failure. Success makes people stupid. Shrewd and stupid. Like a drab-eyed monster afraid of his own growing shadow.