May 11th, 2002

Photo - leaves

whoa, is that the time?!

...which is pretty much what i was saying all night/morning...

'twas the may ball. and i spent about 8 hours of it in a cinema watching "harry potter", "american pie 2" and "the others" (which, by the way, is frellin' fantastic!)

have discovered that vodkacokes get me less drunk than smirnoff ice...

but the highlight of the evening/morning had to be at about 4pm when lloyd and i were leaving the flat, and one of the girls from UDSU was just returning from the ball, having finished work 5 hours earlier. she was very drunk, but she rambled on for a good five minutes about how individual and cool we looked *grin*

and that's pretty much it. and we made survivors photo, just (well, i managed it without falling asleep, which is more than i can say for some people...)
Photo - leaves

so long, farewell, auf weidersehen, goodbye...

well. it's over. "cats" is offically closed. in fact, i'd actually forgotten about it until i just caught the end of a news report on it...

i tried so hard. i really did. i tried not to let it get to me, i tried to put it behind me and tell myself it was stupid... but hearing elaine paige as she sang "memory" just triggered it, that minor stabbing pain in my chest, the feeling of complete desolation, and no possible way to explain why...

and the fact that i could have been there makes it all the worse... i could have been there on thursday night in a front row seat, if only i'd had £45.00, or finished my essay sooner. i could have been there tonight, if only i was famous or 'special' enough to be there for the final performance. i could have seen it, if only i'd found out sooner. moreover, i could be there right now with all those groupies, all those wonderfully dedicated and annoyingly lucky fans, waiting outside the theatre (at least, that's what it looked like) in the faint hope of seeing an original cast member... (or, in my case, stalking lloyd webber and demanding an explanation, or merely throwing myself at his feet and imploring him to re-open it, promise never to close Phantom, convince him the movie is a bad idea unless he gets a decent cast...)

i refuse to cry over this. i can console myself with the fact that i have seen it, twice, which is still twice more than some people who've never seen it, and one of those times was in london. i can convince myself it'll tour like it has on broadway, and i can get front row seats for the hippodrome. it may not be the same, but it's close enough to the dream i never had.

and i can sit here and rant to my heart's content about this, about lloyd webber and his bloody arrogant assumption that he must churn out new-and-interesting things, while he conveniently forgets the things that got him where he is now.

i can also try really, really hard to make myself unobsessed again. but in all honesty, i don't want to do that, because i'll have lost 6 years of my life to this thing without actually achieving anything. which is true of everything i geek over, to be honest, but with "cats", it's different... i had one dream, one teeny, tiny dream. it wasn't much to ask for. just a front row seat. it doesn't seem much of a dream, does it? but it was infinitely more attainable than most of my others...

i feel like my head's going to explode.

there's a lot more i want to say on this matter, but i won't, because it's all purely personal and none of you really understand. just know this - i'm incredibly defensive of the show, i will not hear a bad word against it, and, for now, at least, the slightest little thing is liable to make me either burst into tears, or shout at the perpetrator. so. just a warning.

tomorrow, if i can cope with it, there will be some kind of dedication. perhaps a webpage, if i can be bothered to fight with angelfire... and now i will pour all of this angst into my "sunset boulevard" fanfic... sweet thing's in for a depressing read...
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