And I want this one.

Cheeses save.

Attitude adjustment in a cup.

I want one. It will make me less cranky. Good news for all, then.

Go. Away.

I don't know how it happened, but I've started to hate men.

And by men I mean you, over there, with the Y chromosome. All of you, save for maybe 5 or 6 of you. You're probably also white and have never been diagnosed as mentally ill. But you might have; what do I know?

I'm sick of all of you "worrying" about me. I'm sick of you thinking that you know what's best for me. I'm sick of you trying to control me. Sick of the snide remarks about my choices in life: sexual, chemical, financial, or emotional. These things are not your business.

I'm tired of hearing that I need to do this, that, or the other. I can no longer stand having to listen to your dramatic sighs and proselytizing. I don't want you to keep tabs on me. I'm an adult and I am capable of taking care of myself. I've probably been doing it longer than you have. If I need something, anything, from you, I'm completely capable of asking for it. Don't assume.

I don't care if you haven't realized that you're acting this way or not. Just go away until you know how to stop. I'm that tired of it. I have been listening to all of this for years and I bought into it until recently. Now I can't believe that I ever tolerated it in the first place.

Get a life.

Stop judging me.

I'm not singling anyone out: it's all of you unless you know otherwise or I haven't seen you in so long that it doesn't matter.

Because it bears repeating, stop judging me.

Yes, you are.

Few of the women in my life are doing this because they have (surprise, surprise) almost universally been where I have been. So they don't judge. They don't patronize. Most importantly, they don't treat me as fragile or a freak, the way you do. They get it. It should come as no shock that the majority of diagnoses for personality disorders are for women. That statistics says something important about the state of health care in this and other countries.

I wouldn't have believed this gender split if I weren't living it.

You know, I've really tried not to feel this way. But the overwhelming evidence that you all feel that you can run around deciding who and what I am -- again, all of you: how can it be all of you? -- is astounding. I mean, really, how did you get such a feeling of entitlement? You have no qualifications in regards to any medical diagnosis that I might have and the rest is simply none of your concern. Yet you are over-concerned with my life and well-being, to a disturbing, codependent level.

Your "help" is making things worse. Trust me. If you feel the need to talk about how much I should be listening to you and your ideas about how I run my life, call a professional. It's their job, not mine. My life is none of your business unless I make it such.

I'm not currently interested in apologies, either. Later on, when I've cooled off, sure. For right now, just go away.

Did I mention?

I'm adjusting to new meds, too. But I think they're going to put me on lithium along with the citalopram...oy...

Empty rings around your heart.

I did my best, it wasn't much
I couldn't feel, so I tried to touch
I've told the truth, I didn't come to fool you
And even though
It all went wrong
I'll stand before the Lord of Song
With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah

I was fired.

I'm not in the show.

It was hard.

It is hard.

Very, very hard.

And I don't know how to talk about it.

And I'm not far enough away from it not to be angry.

But I think it was wrong.

And now we ride the circus wheel
With your dark brother wrapped in white
Says it was good to be alive
But now he rides a comet's flame
And won't be coming back again
The Earth looks better from a star
That's right above from where you are
He didn't mean to make you cry
With sparks that ring and bullets fly
On empty rings around your heart
The world just screams and falls apart

But now we must pick up every piece
Of the life we used to love
Just to keep ourselves
At least enough to carry on

Why does my latte taste like the ocean?

I have wept in more coffee shops in the last year than the rest of my life combined.

Jake and I met at a Starbucks during lunch and talked about the possibility of me leaving the show. Today, a week before Big Love opens.

There isn't anyone to blame: I can barely function in rehearsal and Jake doesn't know how to tell me what I need to do to perform well. We're both at a loss.

It was strange to think, when I got cast, Oh, well, now I have to live until at least halfway through May. I can't let anyone down. But I'm still letting people down. I've never felt like I was doing a bad job before in a show, but I can't seem to get a handle on this character. And not just any character, the pivotal character of the show, the one on whom the entire spine of the play gently balances. I had a moment last night when I just cried out, sobbing in the stairwell of my theater, What am I doing? I must be such an idiot for thinking I could do this at all! Why am I here? Why don't I function properly inside, like other people? Why can't it make sense? Why, why, why?

It's exhausting, this constant crisis.

I'm meeting with Jake and Lou to work on whatever needs to be worked tonight. If I have to, I'll do it every night until we open.

I think I'd like to sleep a little now.

All this talk of love.

Sorry that I haven't posted more lately.

I'm in a show right now. Big Love.

I'm finding that this is the most difficult rehearsal process I've ever been through. My meds have been adjusted -- a higher dose -- and, after three months, I'm still anxious and rage-filled over nothing, shadows. If it doesn't work, I think they're putting me on Lithium, which scares me.

All I do is argue in rehearsal. Mostly with Jake, who is directing. Arguing with your director is one of the most unprofessional things an actor can do and I would have been fired by now if he wasn't my friend and didn't know what I was going through. Still, I have no answers to make it better and neither does he. Last night I cried because I got so frightened of getting hurt during a physical scene that I help things up for ten minutes. Then Jake and I went in the hall and argued more and I suddenly decided that I should never act again. Finally, Lou, our stage manager came back and held me for a bit and said that she understood everything that I was going through.

And then I got my face on and did a run-through for promo photos.

In the middle of all this, I met someone. I'll tell that story in another installment...

I'm feeling mighty lonesome
Haven't slept a wink
I walk the floor and watch that door
And in between I drink
Black coffee
Love's a hand me down brew
I've never know a Sunday
In this weekday room

I'm talking to the shadows
from 1 o'clock til 4
And lord, how slow the moments go
When all I do is pour
Black coffee
Since the blues caught my eye
I'm hanging out on Monday
My Sunday dreams to dry

Now a man is born to go a lovin'
A woman's born to weep and fret
To stay at home and tend her oven
And drown her past regrets
In coffee and cigarettes

I'm moaning all the morning
and mourning all the night
And in between it's nicotine
And not much heart to fight
Black coffee
Feelin' low as the ground
It's driving me crazy just waiting for my baby
To maybe come around... around
I'm waiting for my baby
To maybe come around

My nerves have gone to pieces
My hair is turning gray
All I do is drink black coffee
Since my man's gone away