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yous has been warned. im not making much sense. anxiety – 10 marty -2

Half past ten at night
In about two hours im going to be exhausted and burned out, and will need sleep
More than I already want it
The inside of my mouth smells of chocolates, pasta, and too little fruit.
My fingers are pink from the mandible massacre, and white from the cold.
I’m pretty damn disgusting to myself,
And seriously, that’s saying something, because Im usually the one who manages to find some sexiness in that dirty-haired baggy-shirt hobo-look I have during exams.

Have I yet mentioned that I’m going through a bit of a life crisis?
Well in case it isn’t clear yet,
Let me just say, while I twitch at my keyboard, pressing L Backspace L Backspace, slide arm, slide arm, slide arm, bite fingernail, that.

That was exhausting.
Being awake is exhausting at the moment.
Sleeping is hardly better. I hear it all!! If you sneeze at the top of the road, chances are, I’m listening, and now dreaming about your sneeze! Gaah. More twitching.

In the past few days some amazing things have happened and I think they are pushing me in a new direction.

Last Friday I had my acting exam, and it went so well that one of the honours directors asked me to be in her piece, a rendition of Wertenbaker’s Love of The Nightingale. I didn’t even have to audition, she was just keen just from seeing my acting exam. Shweet!

But. This means I will have no life as of Third Term ( July to Sept). And the director now also wants to rehearse before this term is over. ie right now, when I’m supposed to be studying for exams. Yip.

Stilted, the piece which I am assistant stage manager for, which is showing at the Arts Fest in a month or so, is going awesomely but also requires some work from me, which I have kind of been ignoring becos of the A word. But more about that later.

Tonight I had my ensemble singing exam (I sang two songs with a band)..and it went extremely well, the crowd really loved it, some crazy kids even asked me to sign their arms ( seriously. I suspect hard use of drugs on their behalf). I reckon I deserved the shot of chocolate liqueur I awarded myself later.

And all this makes me realise. That perhaps ACADEMIA – the evil A word- is not all it’s cracked up to be. Writing essays, reading text, spewing out more text, remembering quotations – it just doesn’t do it for me anymore.
I’m sick of typing, of finding “good quotes” and “reliable readings,” quite frankly, I don’t like it at this moment.
And yes I know uni is not all fun and games. And yes I know I’m hysterical, and I always get frantic during exams, yes, to the point where I sometimes look like I’m in need of some horse tranquilizers.
But at this point in time I really, really, I mean REALLY see myself focusing more on the practical side of things. Like performance. And it doesn’t mean there isn’t a value in essays or novels or criticism, there is, but I’ve seriously had an overload of it, and am so keen to just pack up and leave this crap. Give me rehearsals any day. Give me props sourcing, painting sets, running through actor’s lines. Finding my character, singing Bella Signora, not drinking any milk the day of a performance for fear of mucus build up. I WANT THAT.

And a bonfire. For my Wordsworth poetry collection. Frigging verbose tree-hugger. I am tired of reading about people who write about hugging trees. How is it supposed to inspire me to love nature, if I don’t even have the time to go outside??

I’m going to read some more of the 20 poems in the Wordsworth section. And if I don’t finish, too bad. Tomorrow me and Coleridge are going on a ramble. Then Sunday I’m going to hang out with Keats. If it doesn’t work out, tough shit. Monday 2pm is my first exam. I have passed many before, I will pass this one too. That’s what matters.
If the text doesn’t speak to you, I don’t see how it’s possible to force yourself to stay up til 3am to memorise and embed and embrace. I only have that kind of dedication for things I truly love. Like The Great Gatsby! Or preparing my movement exam last year. I danced on my bruises till they were the size of ping pong balls. I worked till I knew I had reached my best. Why? BECAUSE I LOVED THAT. But for Tintern Abbey, that is an energy I cannot muster up.

Rant. Now. Over.


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