February 19th, 2003 - 12.44 am
Yes, my friends. It's 12.44 in the morning. I've been trying to go to sleep for TWO count 'em TWO hours now. Why am I not in a contented state of slumbering bliss, you ask? Am I hungry? No. Guilt ridden? No. Displeased with ABC's Thursday night line-up. Nope.
No, there is a mandolin jam festivle going on in my living room, aproximatly 12 feet from my head. And I want it to stohohohop! I hate the mandolin. I hate bluegrass. I hate everything. My roommate, Mark has been either, playing the mandolin, or playing recordings of the mandolin aaaaallllll day long. I'm not exaggerating either. When I got up, mandolin. When I got home from class, mandolin. When I was burning CDs and learning lines, mandolin. He retired to his room with the devil instrument for a blessed two hours, with which I watched Gilmore Girls and 24. But just as Judging Amy was coming on, a knock at the door spelled doom for my fragile sanity.
Murph. Murph and his two mandolins and a six-pack of Fat Tire and I screamed on the inside. But being the easy (ha!) to get along with person that I am, I gathered my script and gatorade and retreated to my room. That was THREE HOURS AGO. And now, my soul is curled in the fetal position begging for death. I've tried EVERYTHING. Pillows over my ears, humming to myself, playing other music, ignoring it, concentrating on something else, meditation. Nothing. Every time they pause, I think "YES! THANK YOU JESUS!" And then they start up again, and I have to start bartering with my soul again.
There should be LAWS against this.
