WARNING: Angsty Kat Ahead.

The mornings are the hardest, really. Or no, perhaps it's the evenings that are the hardest. I'm not sure. But in the morning I can't get out of bed. I lie there and I hold Zimmer, the demented teddy bear from Nightmare Before Christmas (I should throw Zimmer away, shouldn't I, or something) and I breathe. I breathe. And I know that when I get out of bed, no matter what I imagine now, in bed, I'll get out and check my email and nothing will have changed. HSF is over. So I can barely get out of bed. I only managed this morning at eleven o' clock because my sister came in in my red dress and I needed to get it back from her.

The daytimes aren't so hard. You can shut up and suck it up, I guess. There isn't anything else to do. So I go to rehearsal, and I act, and I sing, and I dance, and I repeat Shakespeare over and over, and I start crying whenever the Hamlet and Ophelia scene comes on. "I did love you once," says Megan, our Hamlet. She makes a very convincing boy.

"Indeed my lord, you made me believe so," replies Sarah, our Ophelia. Poor girl, her boyfriend dumped her too, last Thursday.

"This was sometime a paradox, and now time proves it truth. I loved you not."

"I was the more decieved."

I shiver because it's cold at out outdoor theatre. We all warm out hands at the outdoor heater, tall and threatening like some strange species of metal tree. I change out back and the cold air pricks everywhere. I joke and laugh like a robot. Nothing is the same anymore. I'm still an actress, though.

No, I would have to say that the evenings are the hardest. Its then, you see, that I come home and find that the rest of the world keeps ticking just like it did before. The view from my street is still beautiful. (I'll never be able to look at it again. Why did he have to be so nice?) People are still laughing. I don't think Mickey even knows yet. I don't know what she'll do when she finds out.

Afternoons at school are hard too. I sit there in my chair, and sometimes I write letters, long letters, that I never send. They're full of anger and indictments. Sometimes obscenity. I don't know who to blame. Sometimes I blame me. I wrote myself a letter that told me what an idiot I was. And then, inevitably, someone makes a magician joke.

"Hey, Kat, did the magic go out of the relationship?"

"Hey, Kathlyn, did your boyfriend do a disappearing act?"

"Hey Kat, did your exboyfriend ever pull the the rabbit out of the hat?"

Well, that is most certainly it for me and stage magic. No more card tricks. No more rope tricks. No more colored scarves, disappearing doves, blenders of DEATH, top hats, handcuffs, French drops, palmed coins, misdirection, player pianos, rabbits out of hats, lovely assistants, women sawed in half - NONE OF IT. No more magic. I may even swear off Harry Potter.

I started calling Luke Ben again.