I’m getting so confused. I just… what the … who?
I’m back from The Isle of Man. First thing this morning I pulled myself from my sheets. Seems I ran a bath last night when I got home from the delayed flight. I went into my room (for a towel?) got undressed and passed out under the cat. Glad I switched the taps off. This morning I was momentarily surprised by a full cold bath with a glass of wine on the side. “Did I run that? Must’ve…”
I stumbled to Imperial College where I found out I was having to run a room with 200 people in it for a few hours, with a load of co-workers who had never done it before. The whole time, my brain was switching from immediate problem solving to learning the lines I knew I’d have to speak this evening and the work I’d have to do for an audition and back to “No, Itô’s formula isn’t provided on the formula sheet because the academic would assume you already know it.”
The audition involved having to do a little cry. So I was keeping the emotion close to the surface all day. Tears are always close in Spring, but there’s an odd issue with the old cry on demand, in that when they come to you a bit of you thinks “Hooray! There they are, great! I’m really happy I’m crying. Oh shit stop being happy.”
I left the college climbing down from adrenaline, went straight home, and immediately got a load of bags out of the attic to source costume for this evening. Around doing this I shaved and sorted audition clothes, and twice had to stop Pickle from randomly weeing in my drawer or my case. The clothes from the attic smell of other cats and it must have triggered her.
Then “Does this tie work?” “What about this pin?” Fuck it. It’ll do. As long as I feel good. And sad. Sadgood.
Jon and I head off to The Globe where four of us run lines, me in my sharp suit and them in casuals. My alarm goes off to remind me to leave and I’m walking across chilly London, making myself feel vulnerable on purpose again while making sure nobody calls the Samaritans on me. Into the audition room, tuned and ready.
“We won’t read that first character. There’s been a change of thought on it.”
Ach. I could’ve felt happy all day rather than singing Ave Maria and looking at daffodils. We bash out the rest and put it on tape. It feels like a nice respectful meeting. It ends and I’m out the door and stamping back across town mumbling to myself in Elizabethan. I get back in time, change out of my smart suit into scruffy red military costume, and run a load of unfamiliar lines with friends. Then it’s up and at ’em, with high octane clowning to drunk people. We are mostly finished now. I would like that glass of wine and that hot bath now please.
Here we all are, four silly plonkers having fun for money.
One more scene and I’m done. Another early start tomorrow and then driving up north to do something unfamiliar. Hellfire. It won’t stop me saying yes. Better knackered and confused than bored… If only I could sleep bathe in hot wine…