because none of us is fucking up like we think we are, is what i'm trying to say

Thursday, 25 February 2010

I'm Not Really Sure What My Point Is But Please Stay With Me

I haven't been sleeping well of late. I'm not sure if that is because of my increasingly frequent bad dreams or because I've been sharing my tiny single bed with another person three nights a week (JUST KIDDING MAMA. Probably.) but damn, I look in the mirror at my sallow skin and bagged eyes and often consider not leaving the house in case I scare small children and animals and possibly the muscled, six-foot-six black man that serves me my coffee every morning. Hi, Re'Shawn!

And because I am not sleeping well, I have been taking a lot of disco-naps. But these are generally unrewarding because I dream crazy things and so I wake up more tired than I went to sleep and with an inexplicable fear of marshmallows.

I'm currently in rehearsal for a production of the Greek tragedy Antigone as the lead's sister Ismene.

(Sidenote: I think it is my destiny in life to forever be the lead's sister. I feel like Kate Winslet in that film where she screams YOU SHOULD BE ABLE TO PLAY THE LEAD IN YOUR OWN LIFE! Also, wouldn't Antigone and Ismene be really awesome names for cats? Just saying.)

My last really vivid dream was that we were in our final dress rehearsal where no scripts were allowed, no calling for line when you fluffed up was permitted, nothing. And it came to my line and I didn't know it. But because we were 'off book' nobody had a script to feed me my line so we couldn't move the scene on until I had finished screwing up and until I remembered what I was supposed to be saying, and everybody got really cross at me and world hunger and AIDS and Berlusconi and Lemon Coke WAS ALL MY FAULT and the director started to yell at me that I was vivacious and I got really upset.

It was my mind playing tricks on me because my director really did call me vivacious in real life but in my dream it was a nasty, horrible, unthinkable word and then before I knew it I was being dragged by the wrist around the stage to look for a script and she yelled at me, "AND ANOTHER THING! STOP TELLING ALL THE BOYS ABOUT THE EXERCISES YOU DO TO MAKE YOUR BUM LOOK THAT GOOD!" Which was sort of a backhanded compliment because in real life I don't think my bum is that great but I was pretty sure I had never mentioned anything bum-related to any of the boys in the cast so why was I being yelled at? Seriously. This dream was so traumatic I feel like I'll never work in Hollywood (read: MICHIGAN) again.

Do you see how exhausting this is? Enough to need a nap, I'll tell you.

I'm not sure if I don't have sheet guilt, actually. I purchased new sheets because I had been sleeping on borrowed ones (I'm cheap) that were too small for the mattress, which incidentally is this horrible scrappy thin plastic thing and I sleep with my window open so when the sheets would spring up off the mattress in the middle of the night I'd wake up with my face stuck to this FREEZING plastic wishing that my death could be a little less slow and a little less painful.

But you see, I went a little sheet crazy. I grew up in white sheets. Sometimes cream sheets. At the very most light blue fleece sheets for winter. But do you know what I got? Just because I could? STRIPED SHEETS. That is stripes underneath me, stripes on top of me and then not one but TWO striped comforters in varying shades of brown and blue and green and orange so that when I wake up I feel like I am Kylie Minogue in the video where she doesn't wear a lot and writhes around between the straight lines. Only I am not Kylie, and this isn't a music video and sometimes? The stripes just give me a headache and bad dreams.

So yeah. That's what is happening with me right now. I did say I wasn't sure where I was going with this.
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