AHHHHHHHHHHHH.
My mother makes me want to stab someone. I don't understand who she thinks she is, calling me to yell at me, and sending me these e-mails, preaching at me, telling me she thought I was mature, but no, wait, I'm not, and that I suck at life. Don't I know when my deadlines are? Don't I know how to be strong and mature and successful? Whose mother does this? GOD. And then she wonders why I hang up on her.
There are other reasons right now, too, why I'd like to stab someone, but I won't go there.
In happy banality, I saw some seriously mind-blowing theatre this evening. Yay yay yay. However, it also gave me a weirdly uncomfortable, sad sense of deja vu.
A work of art is an invitation to love.