Driving through Camblesforth listening to Zorbing by Stornoway, I am thinking about my love’s eyes in the morning, jerking like stop motion, lazing as long as humanly possible, disappointing me by depriving me of his company in our last moments together this week. I am as annoying as humanly possible, shaking the bed, shaking his legs, staring out his closed eyes. Alas.
Driving into the big black cloud over home, thinking,
“Of course. Here, of course.”
I think I’ve found a new band to be fond of, and probably forget within the week. Such is my mind.
I went to my first audition in a long time yesterday, and remembered why I’ve always stuck to theatre. It was for a student TV group, and it felt very different. The group read in the extra parts, and didn’t give me any direction, didn’t even watch me. I felt very alone, and very far away from the ‘zone’. Anyway, “Do something that scares you every day.”
I am now trying to write a short story about some fire bellows – my homework from the writing class, after handling the artifacts at the local museum. Inspiring, not. Tedious, yes. Just when I think I’ve plucked a decent idea out of nothing, it peters out after the initial thought. Nothing is good enough once put into words. I am too hard to please by my own hand.
Today’s realisations: I cannot commit to a daily diary, and I can never just do one thing at once.