Friday, November 20, 2009


Jen just wrote a blog about her long list of duties, all of which tie her to drama!

Oh, do I love drama. Standing up on stage (no singing, of course, since I won't trust myself to sing in front of people without a vocal coach on staff to make me feel safe doing it), feeling the warm stage lights, improvising based on the audience's's fantastic.

I miss not doing plays anymore, now that I am out in the real world, and all the local theater groups are musical-based, for better or worse. Jen can tell you what she thinks of some of our musical theater groups around here far better than I could. I leave it in her capable hands.

But my love of drama goes beyond my participation in it. I love watching stories play out on television shows like Fringe or The Gilmore Girls or, well, a dozen other current and cancelled television shows. It gives my life excitement I don't have in it. I mean, what are the odds of my living in a quirky little town where everyone knows everyone and follows each other's lives and business and are nice at the same time? Not likely. And what are my chances of finding a freaky bald hat-wearing emotionless Observer walking around taking notes with both hands and waiting for a pivotal moment in time to take pictures of? Not going to happen.

But sometimes, don't you notice that people spring up all over the place who just thrive on drama?

Since we don't have a lot of it, they make it. They decide to take offense, to drudge up old wrongs, to think that look didn't mean "I'm confused" but instead "You are stupid and I hate you, please mistreat me" opening a new chapter in misery for all involved.

My parents call this being "high school"--I can completely understand why. When I was in high school I remember the trials of who liked whom, who hated so-and-so, who wanted to beat up the kid who looked at them funny or liked their girlfriend/boyfriend, and all the related chaos. I tried so hard to stay out of it that I think I passed completely under the radar of most of my fellow students.

Even now, if someone tells an old high school classmate about spending time with me, they have to explain what I look like, how I was quiet, played the flute, oh--and never went anywhere without a book. Only then does the recognition dawn. Yeah, I remember--Laura!

It doesn't bother me. Most of the people I want to remember from high school I see with regularity, others I can get in touch with with Facebook.



Part of me loves it; part of me hates it. I use it because it is the simplest way to keep in touch. I hate it because it lets so many people know so much about you, even if you uncheck all of those privacy icons. See, either I let people find me with the search option, or old high school acquaintances can't find me. I want the people who decide to look me up to find me. But I don't want them knowing all that's going on in my life the instant I click the "accept" button and make them my Facebook buddy.

I used to import blogs from here to Facebook as Notes. I stopped doing that months ago. But today I totally removed the Notes feature. I also made a bunch of other things invisible to other people, out of sheer paranoia.

With Facebook, high school lasts forever. And here I thought I had finally escaped.

Ugh. Ask me the full story later, guys. I'm ready to vent.

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