Auditions went well. I don’t have any idea if I got a part, but I’m pretty sure that I’ll not get Valentine. Valentine felt like such a perfect role for me right now since he’s in love, gets banished, accepts that he must give up his love, but in the end is united with his love.

There’s a clown role, Lance, which I might get, and seems like fun. I can think of several things I would do with it given the chance that would be pretty funny.

During the readings I noticed the anti-semitism in the play more than I’d ever noticed before in other plays. I bet it was there the whole time and I just skipped over it. I think that I would want to ask to avoid some of the lines where that’s what’s written if I was involved.

Anyhow, of course, the whole way home, I’m wishing that I could talk about it with A.

I’m still having trouble eating. I tried to eat before going, but could only manage one slice of toast. When I got back, I had just as much trouble. I had some of the chocolate soy milk, some juice and as much soup as I could stand, which wasn’t much.

My mother is seeing her doctor tomorrow and she’s going to see if I can get in as a new patient. Maybe there’s something to the whole seratonin thing. At least it isn’t prozac or lithium, but I’m still weary. A. made me promise to be sure, but there’s really no tests they can do. Essentially, the test is that it works or it doesn’t.

Maybe if I can get over the first bit, the depression, then I can work on all the rest.

I really need to talk with my father about what happened with his girlfriend, T. I have these memories which I think have been a big part of the problems that I’ve had with sex: my feelings of inadequacy and trouble joining sex with love properly.

I have these memories of a conversation with T when we were alone. I told her that I loved her, and she was taken aback by this. I suppose I was around 9 or 10 perhaps, and she was probably 18 or 19. She protested that it would never work, since I wasn’t very old and my penis would be so small. I argued that I wasn’t that much younger and besides I could use my hands and things.

I remember having my hand down her pants and my mouth on her nipple through her shirt. I remember how hard it was to move my hand in her tight jeans. I remember feeling her get wet as I struggled to please her with my hand. I vaguely think that she reached down to play with my penis, but gave up trying. This went on for a little while, and then I remember my dad coming home, catching us, sort of.

She protested that nothing was happening, but he stated that he could see what was going on. She tried to mollify my dad, but he made her go.

I think that’s when my dad started to talk to me about how one shouldn’t have sex without being in love. I think it’s around this time that I started to try to masturbate myself. It’s from that point on that I started to play with myself almost every day. After I matured some more and started to be able to ejaculate, I was masturbating more than once a day.

I think there’s where a bunch of my feelings of inadequacy and fears of being too small started. I was told I was too small at a point when I had, essentially, my first sexual experience. Of course, I was 9 or 10 when that happened and I was a late bloomer, but I think that whole experience has stuck with me.

So, then the question becomes whether it’s a real memory or not. I suppose, in a way, it doesn’t matter if it was real or not, but I want to try to find out. It’s something about which I’ve never talked to my dad.

I’m sure that having a really smart kid can be challenge enough without having to deal with finding him and one’s own girlfriend in a sexual embrace.

I have a lot of anger over the way things went with my dad. It’s hard to trust happiness, which in a way is always just a promise, when that promise is always broken. There’s also some cynical distrust of happiness, that perhaps happy people are misguided or aren’t very deep thinkers.

I also know that I’ve a lot of problem with trying to accomplish things, since I learned that no matter how much I did, or how hard I tried, that what I did do would not be good enough. Rather, it was good enough, but “could have been better” if only I had tried harder. If nothing is great, no matter how much effort is applied, then why bother spending time doing anything that’s difficult or boring or likely to fail?

I guess that means that I learned helplessness when it came to success. No matter what I did, I wouldn’t be seen to have been successful by my mother.

Then there’s the fact that I grew up knowing that my mother hated my father, and that I was uncomfortably like my father to her in many ways. So, my father, the closest mirror of myself as an adult, was a failure and not loved, and constantly failed to follow through on happiness promised to me.

Well, I’m going to hang out with Joey tomorrow, and then go to the callbacks for the play tomorrow. I’ll now by the end of the day tomorrow whether I’ve got a part or two. I guess it’s going to be an ensemble like it was with Romeo & Juliet, which could be fun, and there may be some cross-gender roles too.

I didn’t hear from Michael tonight. Maybe I will tomorrow. I really hope we do something this weekend. I’m almost desperate to get more in shape at this point. I’m really hoping that if I get in shape, then I will not have so much trouble with being grumpy when doing stuff like hiking and things. I need to break that part of myself, or at least come to terms with it somehow. I need to not constantly find something to be grumpy about in everything that I do.

Maybe that’s the depression, but maybe it’s something deeper. It was definitely one of the symptoms, being irritable.

Current Music: John Lee Hooker & Jim Morrison – Roadhouse Blues