For a day I’m back on the invigilatey train. They’ve changed all the road systems round the edge of Brompton, and I was in Ibis Shepherd’s Bush but now instead of going up to just by Olympia and going left, I actually have a much more logical route to my last parking spot, turning right at Brompton Cemetery. I park on one of the border roads of my borough. From there it’s just a short schlep.
Made it in time and found out I’m running a huge room, but it isn’t one I haven’t run before so it’s fine. I had decent people on my team and a helpful woman from the programming team. The guy who gives us our info is still a little green so everything has to be checked and double checked my end, but actually it was pretty smooth. Not many potatoes today. Things are looking up.
There’s not much time to think in that huge great big conference room, particularly if you’re wearing the hat. By the end of it I was knackered.
Got home and up to my attic to dig out a particular frock coat. Tomorrow morning early I’m sending in a particularly wordy self tape that I don’t have to learn but that will be a right bugger to get in the can. I’ve been putting it off for that reason, but I’ve got some appropriate costume now. Does it help? Who knows. But it makes me feel like I’ve made an effort. There’s a lot in the pipeline right now. I’m almost overflooded with possibility. A nice place to be, but at some point there will likely be a time of careful pruning.
For now I’m just keeping all the balls in the air. Esta did brilliantly shifting one audition for a summer Much Ado tour to a time where I could do it without dropping two days worth of well remunerated workshops in Kent.
So yes I’m feeling flooded right now. I’ve learnt now about my attention and how it works. I can only look at the thing I’m doing and the next thing. As soon as the thing I’m doing is done I look at my diary to see what the next thing is. When I’m flooded like this then I can’t fit social in. The next thing comes on the back of the thing I’m doing. I sometimes think of old friends who couldn’t cope with this. I mourn them. But I know what I’m like.
If I haven’t responded to your thing it is not personal, I forgot. If you decide to cut me off and start just being peremptory with me because of some imagined slight, it is not intended, it never was. Still, I try to get it. Some personality types just don’t play well with others. But I miss you.
AlBarclay 