A couple of years ago, when I was still freshly broken up with I went on a date. I can't remember his name now, we went to high school together and I remember seeing him around campus, a shy quiet and artistic kind. We went to breakfast, Plum's, that where James and I would go after he went to church but I didn't tell my date that bit of info. I wanted to meet him there because I hoped I would run into James. That he would see me with someone else and regret that he left me.

David, I think that was his name. Anyway, I talked to David for a couple of weeks-about literature mostly. Late nights on the instant messenger. I remember it had been a day after his birthday and it was always the saddest day of the year for him. I didn't understand why, I thought it was melodramatic.

Maybe I'm melodramatic.

March is never the best month for me. I've had nice birthday's but weeks leading up are somehow difficult. It has been emotional difficult. I want to pretend I'm gone.

I had a terrible dream last night, I was high on caffeine typing away at a story that will probably never be read. Or who knows. I went to bed at five. Hours before that I was light headed from steadily blowing up balloons, pondering about what everyone had said earlier that night at a Denny's not too far from where I sat. The way certain people would say certain things to me, the way others noticed me studying an insignificant object and just my placement in the current world. I had my iPod on shuffle, I still have thousands of songs that I have not heard in my own iPod-most from Paul who did not censor his own collection. But out of the thousands, a unfamiliar song but familiar voice came on. The song was not one that Paul gave me but my own... I just had not the paitence to listen through. The song was called A Bad Dream. It was a good one, but it was like a warning.

I had a bad dream last night. I woke up with no one around me, even the sun was gone. I dreamt that a riot broke out at the mall, every single person with every imaginable profession joined the mob, trying to kill each other. I was trapped and some chef was trying to kill me. I climbed a post and there she was, waiting for me to fall on her butcher knife.

I was arranging my laundry, I found the shirt that shrouded me in comfort and I breathed in all the life it had left in the material. Thinking and crying about the future I might lose or might keep. But I let myself cry.

People come and go. Everyone.

First off, who here is excited about The Dark Knight? (Raise your hands). There's a good lot of you, as expected.

Well, after a long hard day of doing DeGuie stuff, I flopped on couch to watch garbage on the tube (VH1 mostly) and time stops for a moment... a commercial rolls on screen. Is it a trailer? No. It's an advertisement. For? Reese's Pieces Peanut Butter Cup. Hm. In the shape... of the Bat signal.

Wow.

Okay. That's a bit unnecessary.

I turn off the tube and journey out into one of the bigger Southern Californian hot spots... The Barnes and Noble. Journeying out and away from the Tube to the racks and rows of TV-decorated magazines. I take my share of colorful gossip and superficial magazines, stuffing my nose in these magazines... two seconds into my scanning, one of the first images that explodes onto the page is a black and white Christian Bale photo. Well, of course. The movie's going to premiere soon so Bale is certainly going to start showing up on talk shows, ads, Campbell soup cans, etc. I can't help staring at this ad because, well, Bale is a ticking sex bomb. And he's modeling a suit.

I read the label on the bottom, some expensive well-known heavily respected designer. Then in the caption, "Suits made especially for BRUCE WAYNE."

I close the magazine, I take a little breather. I dig my nails into the chair's arms. Bruce Wayne? BRUCE WAYNE?

Okay, so if Bruce Wayne exist where the fuck has he been during all the crimes that occur in Los Angeles? Or at least he could show up to the celebrities charity events... Where is he? Oh yeah, in Gotham City. And where the fuck is Gotham City? Oh yeah, IT DOESN'T FUCKIN' EXIST! So why the fuck would this designer make suits for BRUCE WAYNE when BRUCE WAYNE doesn't exist?! OH YEAH, SO THEY CAN ADVERTISE THE HELL OUT OF THE BATMAN MOVIE.

But this isn't as bad as Fantastic Four. Remember that? Fantastic Four all over products, from M&M's to Coca-Cola to Aunt Jemaima's Pancakes. No, no where near as bad. I just think it's all unnecessary.

I bought my tickets. I'll probably be in line 27 hours before the movie starts, I'll have to cancel my class and my appointments. Yes, I'll probably dress up. Yes, I'll probably see it more than once. Yes, I'll probably be annoyed by the craze but I'll probably join in.... eventually.

Thanks again for attending Under the Gun! I hope you all enjoyed it. Anyhow, this last winter MSAC revived their playwriting class taughted by the extremely talented Richard Strand (who also directed Under the Gun AND wrote two of the plays). All semester the students exchanged their own original plays and ideas and feedback. Now that the class is over, Strand has selected EIGHT plays for 2009's Student Winter Performance.

I am very honored and excited that Richard Strand has been very generous in offering a new aspect in theatre by including one of my plays for the 2009 Student show. Actually I'm beyond excited, estactic or whatever. I'm sure the other selected playwrights can agree with me.

2009 Student Show

THE FALL by Anthony Rutowicz
I STAND CORRECTED by Daniel Cuesta
A CONVERSATION WITH DEATH by Tariq Aljalal
THE BEAR TRAP by Paul Flores
THE ARCHS by Matthew Bolduc
NOWHERE by Michael Squyres
HARLEY'S MOMENT IN HEAVEN by Melinda Smith
HE'S LOADED, SHE'S LOADED by DeGuie Sanabria


I know, I know. We've barely entered 2008, so this production won't be for a long while. But like I said before, I am excited!

I'm pretty sure I have read through all of these plays and there are very well written. Like Under the Gun, I have a clear idea of the theme is.

I will definately post up, in time, when the auditions will be held. Again, they won't be for a long while (probably around December).

Thanks.

I broke out into mysterious symptons. Fever struck, so did paranoia. It's been ages that I'm able to contact the outside world, for all of Novemeber my room cluttered with assignments after projects, projects after assignments, then test, test, test. I would type furiously hour after hour submitting myself to let the screen swallow me up, it dumbed me away from my school pals. I forgot have to interact, I think. I suppose. I don't know. I was real depressed for weeks, it hit me like ten pillow cases of rocks. Somethings I didn't even bother fighting back so I just laid there, feeling more sorry for myself as the seconds went by. I just wished I could have slept through it but I was wide awake. And thinking, and assuming and concluding.
I felt like an outdated toaster when I went out. I was just there.
I really tried to pick myself up when I felt the weight, I did somethings I swear... but really, honestly, feeling sorry myself is just easier. Really. You know what I mean. You do.
I went to the doctor finally, virus he concluded. But we need to take blood.
As I waited for the nurse, I laid there reviewing my entire conscious life. Why am I so scared? Why am I this way?-the whole collection of whys. I dislike, DISLIKE needles. So, it's obvious that I hate, HATE drawing blood. I began to pant and shake uncontrollably. This reminded me of that night...
Nights before, I sat in my car with him. God, I hate it when I'm right. I knew it. I began to shake as if someone threw me out in the snow. I was so upset, so irritated, and still so hurt by the measley, damned history.
I told him I don't care. But he knows I do.
I prefered not to lose sleep that night. I wasted a week earlier Novemember losing sleep.
I drove myself home one day, I nearly came a screeching halt as I saw a body hanging from a tree. Numbness and confusion came over me. It was just swaying there. After a second, my eyes readjusted as I realized it was some kid waiting for the bus. Alive and well. That second of panicking took fifteen minutes to get over, hunched over in my car. I'm seeing things.
I feel ten years more tired not because of my "experiences" or "lessions learned", I've been afraid all month long, it's tiring me out.

If I were a tiger, this would be so much easier.

Sick, the whole week long. I saw it coming I guess in a way I made myself sick. I suppose you can give me a gold metal for that sort of stuff.

Some of my friends had a pretty shitty week too. Different things happening all at once, it's crazy how things somehow, someway connect. Anywho, I felt a little relieved to know my friends can still turn to me. It helped me take my mind off things for a while.

It was a lot worst yesterday, I worked a longer day than usual. Always, always need the money though. It's never enough for a MSAC student. I sat there and I swear to God autumn came a lot earlier this year. It's not necessarily the temperature outside but the atmosphere. I felt so cozy even while I was at work and feeling utterly sick. I love summer but it was amazing to see cloudy skies. A change in the weather.

I love waking up and realizing I'm alone. It's rare that I wake up alone and feel good about it. I'm depressed so often, it's very annoying. But today particularily, it felt amazing to be alone and having a quiet house to myself for a few hours. I almost hoped it would rain. Anyway I gather enough patience to watch a movie and I stumbled upon Broken Flowers.

Typically indie flick but I enjoyed it immensely! I was excited to see Tilda Swinton was in it. She didn't play a big role but she still amazed me for her three minute role. Of course, like many indies it didn't have a solid ending. It left me somewhat satisfied after really digesting the movie. I might buy it.

I suppose it's a common thing to feel depressed and useless on summer vacations. How is my current job suppose to benefit me for my future? I don't even have much interaction with people. It's all... (how should I put it?)-I guess chore work.
Nobody likes a depress person anyhow, it's annoying because it's been done how many times? Fuck, I even annoy myself sometime. How does one run away from themselves? Pills? Alchohol? Sleep?

I woke up in my livingroom this morning, angry at the entire world for no good goddamn reason. My sister's bed vacant. I almost forgot that she had a campus tour over in Pepperdine with the President of the University.

Yes, I've taken that tour back when I had a delusional hope for myself. It's a heavy stone in my stomach to realize maybe it's not right for me. I don't even know what's right to be honest. I don't know when it happen but everything around me feels different. Off. Everythings a different shade now than when I last look.

I think I might go to the cementary today. It really is better than the park, there's a different sort of quiet, like time is holding his breath so she won't wake the dead. Even my breathing is inaudible, all my thoughts just seem to vanish. I don't have anyone I visit really (thank God)...

Michael told me how I was unapproachable in high school. I had blood on my knapsack. He was too scared to talk to me, at first. Oh geeze, this is embarasssing. Yes, yes. I was a melodramatic teen, so weren't you? I'm a little better now I suppose. I suppose. Anyway, it wasn't only on the backpack but all over my artwork, I think in my writting too. When people were so stupid to ask if the blood was real I replied, Oh yes, it's period blood.

I wish you were here.

I feel "digitally" cleanse. As I sat here for the last thirty minutes or more after an afternoon of cloudy thoughts, I scanned through the many, many different Myspace headshots and glamour shoots.

As I slowly snaked around profiles and poking my nose in other people's blogs and bulletins I ended up in my own album, staring stupidly back at my own face posted up on the world wide web. Amazing, is it? That my face is traveling from across the globe, into millions of people's bedrooms.

Then, I'm pondering-Gee I wonder how people in the world have actually SEEN my picture? Over 200? Higher? Lower? Then I remember the magic panel...

Yes, the Profile Views in one myspace lifetime. Ah. So THAT'S how many people have scanned through my profile.

There's this pause of silence in my head of sitting in my own pile of awkwardness. A sense of paranoia flush over me and on quick impulse I feel like an ogre! No, I am an ogre! Oh my God! How many people have secretly thought this while looking at my picture? How many backstabbers have stollen my pictures, adding mustaches and horns and whatnot??? Oh my God!!! What was I thinking when I posted that picture up? That's not a nose, it's a snout! God I look like I killed ten people with the kitchen knife.... Oh well, this is a good picture... this is a great picture. I wonder why anyone hasn' commented.... Maybe they think I'm vain... They hate me. Oh geeze! I'm such a bitch.

And the stream of unnecessary paranoia low self-esteem goes hirewire, the system is down for a couple of seconds. Before I realize I deleted a bulk of my photos. Disguistingly, my gut feels this surge of sadness of having lost something... precious (?). Digital photos of me just trying to show off my goddamn face is "precious".

I hate myself even more thereafter.

Would I be able to get into film? I mean what if I did strike gold and I become this big time actress. Typically rags to riches story about a gal who doesn't have much money, and overnight she a sensation on this tween show on the Disney Channel. Yes! Yes! I see it now, "That's So DeGuie but She's Not from Montana!" Then I come out with a brilliant music album called "Letters from Heart XoXo" that makes it big with billions of tweens across the country and it leaks out a great sucess in other countries as well. And here I go, landing movies playing an only goofier version of myself in this no-plot movies. But since I have the golden touch, the nation still goes crazy.

And so I'm a household name. My face has a home in millions of residents. I become an M&M, a Pikachu, your vote on American Idol, Oprah, the iPhone, a bag of dorritos, Coca Cola, McDonald's, a Simpson, a saint, a goddess, an untouchable fragrance from Dior, Ryan Seacrest...

I'm still having trouble about the Myspace thing. Imagine the reporters on my trail, the pressure of the media reviewing your every move, critics telling me I'm no good for musicals and to stick to films such as Scary Movie 6, I'm much too short, no-no the pores on my noses take away all the focus, you look like a drag queen in the latest vogue shoot. Ew, why would she believe that? Oh what a hypocrite and la de da.

Is that the life I really thirst for? Well, gee mister I only wanted to be an actress. I want pretend I'm not myself for a bit, play, pretend. It's something I've always dream of doing. But the exposure. Millions of people watching me. No I mean really watching me. The camera's are off but why are people still watching me. Don't they have something better to do? Why do they bother?

When my mind comes down from it's storm cloud, I feel relaxed with my reality. A good sort of lonliness snuggling against my bedroom walls.

It doesn't change the fact I desire to be sucess in an acting career but I want to remain a hermitt forever. I'm not a Lindsy, Scarlett or even an Angelina. I will always want to be known as a decent actress, not a celebrity. I want to promise myself to let myself stress and get old naturally. I don't want pills to take away my humanity-my right to suffer depressing, heartbreak pain. Without pain, I won't know what happiness is anymore. I guess I would be an android. I don't want to be made of plastic. Bring on the crow's feet, so what if my lips wither. So what.

So... what will become of me?

You were so beautiful... and God called you, you flew to Him with such grace.

You were always so happy, laughing all the time. I'm glad I got to know you, even for a little while.

Good Bye Cesia Zuniga.

I've realized it's a long harsh semester. And I'm incredibly tired... I don't care much anymore.

We got into two stressing arguments... I have two minds about it. I'm relieved that this new "level" has been revealed to us. He didn't consider it as a our first "big" fight... I can't ever remember being involved in one of those, I assumed I've never been in one. There is a possibly I have and I just blocked it from my memory. My other mind, well it was yet another realization of my development in character or rather a development in using one of my strongest tools, my voice. I'm sure that anyone who reads this will have trouble making sense of what I'm trying to explain. Suppose it's a self note.

The play went decent last night. Could be better (on my part but everyone else did a splendid job), hopefully tonight I can get a grip on this quivering tongue. I wish I could do this hundreds and hundreds of times over so I can relax into my security again. I had that feeling one of the performances.... was it Wednesday?

I had a very strange dream last night, involving two characters...

By the way wearing nail polish makes me feel like a sex slave. I think I might throw up.

Bleu-Bleu got to see the play along with her Biker Man. Almost got my ass kicked because of that "big head" remark. Good times.

I love this song, Pocketful of Rainbows.

No more teardrops.

How funny. How cheesy. How romantic. How corny.

But somehow I'm smiling.