I have just been invited to join catbloggers!
"A small group of us have started a new site called Cat Bloggers. Our intent is to bring Cat bloggers closer together, and make a positive contribution to the Internet community.
Would you be interested in joining Cat Bloggers?
We look forward to hearing from you and seeing you on Cat Bloggers."
Good grief.
What has happened to my life?
There was a thing that I was going to ask you all. I thought of it on the bus.
"Yes!" I thought. "What a lovely thing to ask all my nice readers!" Then I settled back into listening to Nick Cave.
I have forgotten the thing.
I am foolish.
So, instead I am going to ask, is there anything you would like to tell me? Anything at all?
I will tell you that yesterday I had my first panic attack for, well, some months, and I dribbled. I have had many and varied panic attacks before, but I have never dribbled. It was intriguing.
Today I have mostly been panicking.
SQUUUUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAKKKKKKKKKKK!
As I mentioned here I have to find a great deal of money to put on the plays that I have not yet decided whether to publicise on this blog.
It is horrid.
Do not work in theatre.
(Unless you are rich).
I was on the bus this morning, as is my wont. I was thoroughly engrossed in Corrina Corrina, contemplating that Bob can actually sing when he chooses to, and thinking that it is such a lovely, warm, cosy song, when a man got on.
Dear readers, do not worry, that is not the full extent of the story.
He was a very tall man, with studiedly mussed blonde hair and a handsome, if boyish face.
I was sitting down. He was tall. The bus was crowded, and so it was only moments later that I found my little face (I am a little person) directly opposite the charming tall man's Open Flies.
I looked around. Some school girls who were also small (and still are I should think - it was only this morning) had also caught sight of the zipper casually langushing at the bottom of the zip, and they were laughing. He looked slightly perplexed and moved away.
Oh I didn't know what to do! He was now too far for me to mutter it discreetly to him, and I couldn't mime it in front of the rest of this crowded bus. So I sat there helplessly, my mind unwittingly throwing up all the things he might be on his way to do - a job interview, meeting a Lady for coffee, giving An Important Presentation or, heaven forbid, teaching.
About ten minutes later he unzipped first his zippy coat and then his zippy top underneath and I'm afraid to say I snickered.
Then I carried on listening to Voodoo Child. Am I a bad person?
Back to the usual extremely mundane, grindstone. Sigh.
It's a funny life I lead. Months of wandering from one office in central London to another, wearing business suits (BIGGER SIGH) picking up phones, putting them down again, then all of a sudden I'm exhorting a small group of people in a contained room to slide down a wall with their eyes closed describing their favourite food to the strangely hypnotic melodies of Nick Cave.
And I don't think I will ever get over the terror of putting something you have made in front of real actual people. People who might point and shout obscenities and laugh in a mocking way. Or who might even get up and just plain walk out. I want to eat my own arms at the thought.
Thankfully nobody did any of those things last night. Instead they laughed in a "how terribly funny and delightful" way. That was nice.
But, feedback forms. Do you know about these? They have started springing up at the end of shows over the past five years or so (maybe longer, but I've only been doing it five years). They are like little questionnaires that the audience fill in at the end. "Which bit did you like best?" "Which bit didn't quite work? "Which of the actors would you most like to snog?" That sort of thing.
They're ridiculous.
But for stupid and annoying funding reasons you have to do them. And when you read them they are always entirely polarised, completely different and nothing like anything any normal human beings say. Feedback forms. Utterly useless in every way.
Grr.
(A selection of useless feedback may follow. That was a warning.)
PS. HOORAY! I have discovered some Truth! You can discover it too here. I feel more at peace with my wibbly-wobbly existence now. And I might even enjoy the bastard business suits. (I shall certainly chuckle quietly in the knowledge that they cost me £7.99 from a Clapham charity shop. Ha ha! Take that capitalist flunkeys!)
I can only apologise.
In my non-interweb based life (I know. Extraordinary.) I work in the theatre.
Don't hate me.
And at the moment I am in rehearsal developing a new piece. It is exhausting and a bit all encompassing and stuff. Which is why I'm not currently funny or entertaining or even interesting.
But I will be again. I promise.
I can smell smoke. Must be my creativity frazzling.
I think I am addicted to making people happy.
It is dangerous.
The problem with this particular addiction is that if it doesn't work, if you don't make people happy, then you feel like a failure.
Today I feel like a failure.
Boy suffers from the meanest nightmares you can think of. So mean that sometimes he won't tell me about them, that he wakes up at four in the morning too terrified to go back to sleep. So mean that he cries.
I dance and joke and cuddle and smile and stroke and make tea upon tea upon tea (and even coffee sometimes) but he is still sad.
When we got married my promise was that I would try and try and try to make him happy because that is all I want; for him to be happy.
But I don't know how to fight these evil nighttime imaginings. I wish I had a sword and an axe and a bow and arrows - I would cut swathes through them all! Shouting "Ha!" probably.
Oh why can't I be a better wife?
My finger is feeling much better today. But strangely stiff.
Because I have been at home (after waking up disgistingly late for a Tuesday and thinking "bugger temping!" like the rebel I am) I have been listening to A Lot Of Music.
Which is what leads me to make this claim: A Different Class by Pulp is the most sexy album ever made.
Deny it! Go on!
Oh, Jarvis...
To type. Just to type without thinking to see what comes out. With channel opening maybe freshness will spring from the bottom of the world up through my legs and out into the sky to keep relaxed not to hold my shoulder or wonder about the likelihood of butcher and seal and the clubbing in the water. The ear that comes with wondering wondering what exactly the purpose is and not just to let the time be I wonder if this is fast enough do my fingers conjoin with the functions of my mind typing is surely a problem when I look back at this will I be able to read it at all I wonder or just marvel at the pretension of one whom given WHOM GIVEN! ten spare minutes does a stream of consciousness on a middle class lap top. Wish I write more but not to censor to let ideas flow freely is always my problem when working alone to just open head OPEN HEAD if I try to order maybe something will leap unasked for from the front of my brain maybe the forces within will push push til at the front an idea comes bursting forth like aliens from chests.
I stopped and looked that may have been a mistake what is in my head I wonder?
Butterflies floating like angels through the breeze on drugs the butterflies looking hazy looking at the hazy world giggling giggling flying in among each other wanting to touch to brush their dust onto another to make contact and not be forever floating alone. Smiles floating above the ground up into the blue sky like escaping helium balloons wondering at the colours of the butterflies looking like cake like edible monkeys up above the earth flying flying flying soaring diving moving through the world connecting at points touching leaves giving each a taste of their own a taste of what the leaf could be if only it were a butterfly and the leaves think just you wait come autumn I will be spiralling spiralling through the air floating between sky and ground and my colours will be just as pretty my darling butterfly we are not so far away from each other you and I and into the earth I will go to become one with all and where will you be then my butterfly? Long gone, long into the earth or on the breeze or into everything which is one with the other. How can you believe you give me a taste? I taste it always.
Tell me things you would like to try.
I would like to try hang-gliding. Or one of those microlite things that buzz.
Also, and in a completely unrelated way, on my lunch break yesterday I looked out of the window. I could see into a school. A group of teenage girls sat having their lunch. One of them unwrapped her sandwiches, took the clingfilm and plastered it carefully over her face then sat for a while.
I thought this was unlikely behaviour for a teenage girl.
I am drinking hot chocolate.
