Diary Entry 1

February 4, 2025

There is something quite thrilling— and by thrilling, I mean mildly perilous—about embarking on a new endeavor with very little knowledge of what one is doing. After encountering a most intriguing collection of hidden libraries, esoteric archives, and virtual curio cabinets (or, as they are more commonly known, Neocities websites), I have decided to create my own. The thought of maintaining a journal— one filled with musings, misadventures, and perhaps the occasional coded warning—has long appealed to me, and this medium seems a most artistic way to begin. Of course, a journal should contain some record of one’s day, so in the interest of tradition: Today was uneventful, though not unproductive. I attended class and completed a small sculpture (crafted from mere cardboard), of a hairclip I found in my room. It is a surprisingly faithful replica that I am quite proud of, which is saying quite a lot, as I am not typically one to place confidence in my artistic endeavors. Nevertheless, it sits proudly upon my desk, a testament to the fact that sometimes, even the most seemingly insignificant creations have their place in the world. In other news, my voice remains tragically absent after losing it last week, a most inopportune affliction that has robbed me of my chance to audition for a local production of "Something Rotten!". A true shame. Yet, hope is not lost. In March, another company will hold auditions for "The Sound of Music", and with any luck, I shall be in full vocal form by then. Until that time, I must endure the days without humming, a task which grows increasingly difficult as the silence stretches on. After my time in the library— where I am entrusted with the care of the music department’s many tomes and manuscripts—I ventured out with my most trusted companion, my roommate, who required supplies for her artistic pursuits. We rewarded ourselves with sweet confections: she, a frappe; I, a specialty iced green tea. Upon returning, rather than succumbing to the calls of sleep like any sensible person, I have instead begun to decipher the mysterious and oft-unforgiving world of HTML. Should I fail in my attempts, I may seek solace in a most comforting alternative— finally watching "Vengeance Most Fowl", the long-awaited new installment in the Wallace and Gromit canon. My aforementioned roommate was recently introduced to "The Wrong Trousers" and "A Matter of Loaf and Death" by me, and now my mind is filled with nothing but a craving for more claymation antics. Should my HTML studies prove too daunting, I shall surrender myself to the delights of stop-motion storytelling and hope for the best. For now, this shall suffice. The night is late, and mysteries both digital and theatrical await. That is all for now.

Diary Entry 2

February 5, 2025

The day began in disarray. I awoke far too late, missed my scheduled obligations, and spent the remainder of daylight confined within the four walls of my dormitory. It is a dangerous thing, to allow inertia to take hold— one moment, you are simply resting, and the next, you are watching the hours slip through your fingers like sand through a sieve. However, despair, like an overdue library book, must eventually be confronted. I forced myself into motion and turned my attention to the kitchen, a place that had, until today, closely resembled the aftermath of some great and terrible disaster. I shall spare you the specifics, but suffice it to say, if an inspector had entered this morning, the entire building may have been condemned. Now, at least, it is habitable once more. A small victory, but a victory nonetheless. To close the night, I watched a film I had meant to see but, as so often happens, had temporarily lost to the depths of my mind— "Professor Marston and the Wonder Women". The film itself was engaging, but what truly made me pause was the name of its writer and director: Angela Robinson. The same Angela Robinson who created "D.E.B.S.", a film I have committed to memory by virtue of my sister’s unwavering adoration for it. A curious coincidence, or perhaps a sign that I am, indeed, attuned to... an interesting taste in cinema. (I've watched Citizen Kane, let me have my fun.) More importantly, the film lingered in my thoughts because of its exploration of truth— the kind that defines us, the kind we must protect. It was a reminder that my own truth, elusive as it may sometimes seem, is worth pursuing. And when I find it, I must hold onto it with both hands. For now, however, my truth involves transferring my laundry to the dryer before I am forced to wear something truly regrettable tomorrow. That is all for now.

Diary Entry 3

February 6, 2025

Today was brief but lovely, like a well-written sonnet or a coded message tucked inside the pages of a forgotten library book. I had no classes, which allowed me the luxury of sleeping in— again. I am making an effort to break this habit, but unfortunately, my bed conspires against me with the persuasive force of a seasoned diplomat. The weather, however, was beyond reproach. The sky remained a soft, brooding gray, the air carried the scent of rain, and the world was shrouded in a delicate fog. If I could bottle the atmosphere of this day and keep it on my shelf, I would. In even better news, my voice has returned! Naturally, the only reasonable response was to bolt to the nearest rehearsal room and sing through as much "Ruddigore" as humanly possible. I have no doubt that those in neighboring rooms were deeply moved by my triumphant return to vocalization— whether in admiration or despair, I cannot say. Between musical outbursts, I retrieved food for myself and my ever-patient roommate, and I finally completed an illustration/commission for my former theatre teacher. She, in a grand and well-deserved turn of events, is now publishing a collection of her works and asked me to contribute art in celebration of their release. There are few people in this world I admire as much as her. In many ways, she was the first person to convince me that I had something worth offering, something to create, to share, to be proud of. There was a time when I believed I was nothing of note, that I existed merely to take up space. While I still wrestle with shadows that whisper such unkind things, I at least now have something that quiets them— a purpose, or at the very least, proof that I can create things that matter. But enough of all that. I feel remarkably inclined toward creativity at the moment, and I believe I shall put it to good use. Perhaps some artwork, accompanied by an episode of "Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood"- a comforting constant in an otherwise uncertain world. That is all for now.

Diary Entry 4

February 8, 2025

Today has left me in a peculiar state of melancholy, the kind that lingers like the final note of a song, unresolved yet not unpleasant. On the one hand, I am terribly proud of myself— for despite the fact that I did not sleep last night (and I mean that quite literally, I have been awake for far longer than is advisable), I remained upright and functional solely because of a single, spontaneous decision. Seeing as my voice had returned, I resolved— despite being far less prepared than I had hoped—to attend auditions for "Something Rotten!" and give it my best effort. I have just returned from this endeavor, and I am positively exhausted. I rarely wear makeup, reserving it for special occasions, such as instances in which I wish to make an impression, or the exact opposite, like when I'm hiding a woman who is determined to find me after getting a little to close to an important revelation about her involvment with a particularly unpleasant production of "Ruddigore" that ended with the murder of her own late wife. Anyways, my face is now irratabley warm from scrubbing it away. I also find myself quite hungry, as auditions render me incapable of eating beforehand due to nerves. (I do, at the very least, force down a granola bar when I can manage it, as one should never sing on an empty stomach— no matter how dramatic it may seem.) I practiced as much as I could before 2:00, then called for an associate to take me to the rehearsal space. I was uncertain of what to expect from a new theatre company, but to my great delight, everyone I met was wonderfully kind. There is something profoundly heartening about witnessing a group of confident yet vulnerable individuals cheering one another on, despite the competitive nature of auditions. It was inspiring in a way that words cannot quite capture. As fate would have it, I was the first to arrive— which meant I was also the first to audition. In front of forty or so strangers. An invigorating way to begin the afternoon, certainly. I have come to recognize that, if I possess a singular talent that sets me apart, it is my voice. I loathe the very notion of boasting, and I assure you I am not doing so now, but it never ceases to astonish me when others shower me with praise for something that, to me, feels entirely ordinary. But then, depression has a way of distorting one’s own perception. I was content with my performance, and I was even invited to stay and read for some characters. However, I soon found that the only role they had me read for was an extra— while other women took turns reading for the leads. In this particular production, there are only two female characters, which made competition particularly fierce. I would be lying if I said I was not a little disappointed that my strongest asset did not seem to tip the scales in my favor. But perhaps I am being foolish— perhaps they already got exactly what they needed from me the moment I sang. Who can say? I did not audition with the intention of being the star of the show. I did it because performing is what I love most. It is something I wish to share with others, a piece of myself I offer freely. Even so, auditions have a peculiar way of slipping beneath one’s skin, whispering softly, "What could I have done differently?" But I digress. I am proud of the effort I poured into today, and I am grateful for the new connections I have made. I am now thoroughly spent, and if I do not seek out rest soon, I may simply collapse where I stand. That is all for now.

Diary Entry 5

February 21, 2025

It has been some time, hasn’t it? I still have yet to decipher the grand and cryptic language of coding, so in the meantime, I shall pass the hours with another diary entry. A small but significant victory: I have begun a new medication, and to my great relief, it appears to be working. Even better, I have caught up with my work, which is a rare and beautiful occurrence. The only obstacles standing between me and a blissfully unburdened existence are a handful of minor obligations I, in my infinite shortsightedness, agreed to take on. But I will see them through— Lord have mercy. As for Something Rotten!, I did not receive a callback. That disappointment has already run its course, and I have since set my sights on a new pursuit: "The Sound of Music", courtesy of IMP’s upcoming auditions. This one means a great deal to me, and I have every intention of doing my absolute best. A fire has been lit beneath me, and I intend to let it propel me forward. At my vocal mentor’s suggestion, I will be singing "Till There Was You" from "The Music Man" — a choice I hope will serve me well. Additionally, I plan to attend a post-audition workshop to acquaint myself with the company and, ideally, allow them to become acquainted with me. Anything to better my chances. I truly, truly hope this works out. That is all for now.