play

A play I wrote is coming up.

Sure I don’t get paid for it.
Sure it’s only 10 minutes.

But maybe like a mother who thinks her hideous child is actually lookable, I can’t help but feel a little proud that I’ve managed to get selected. Having checked out the competition yesterday, I can’t help but compare. And feel rather left behind.

Well the day of reckoning has yet to come so I won’t be filling this page with 50-cent words, but I just hope it all goes well.

I wonder, really… why do I keep on writing when I see no end nor reason.

Then I pick up a pen. And the mad, mad scribbles and incessant scrawls that flood the page, they somehow convince me that reason isn’t necessary.

And they’re right.