One

So my professor, Bruce Graham, is nervous about my senior project. I don't blame him. My writing is usually very open-ended and unnecessarily complex, while successful plays usually are matter of fact and to the point. I think I know how my future will turn out...but I'm still young and foolish and very, very ignorant.

Still, I might as well learn as much as I can from somebody as successful as Graham, while I still can. School isn't over yet; the real world still hasn't come to turn me into even more of a cynic. So there may still be hope for me...

I just need to focus on what I want, which is much harder than it sounds. I feel this college experience is one long sorting process. I'm here, now I'm there, now I'm nowhere. Films to plays to films to comic books to prose to plays: will the cycle just keep on repeating? Fuck. No. It's all good. For now, I need to focus on the immediates–like my meeting with Graham tomorrow. I must compact this whole story into one sentence (a tagline, if you will). One sentence. One. How the hell am I going to do that? Yeah. This is going to be a long quarter.