Woohoo!….wait…zzzzz….COFFEE!….yeah!….urgh….zzzzz….. a.k.a JETLAG

At the best of times, I am well known for daily blonde moments involving seemingly straight forward acts such as walking and using the English language correctly.   I know the looks I get.  The bemused raised eyebrows, the not quite concealed giggles, and the unshamed bellows of laughter at the ins and outs of watching Amnesty negotiate life in general.  Coordination and clarity are clearly not my strong point!

Today in the kitchen, we whip up the lovely combination of an insomniac with jetlag in a vintage shaker; when the bar tender of airtravel pours me out, you find your glass has been rimmed with a extra heavy layer of “voices in your head”.  Yessireee…..pass GO, collect $200, Amnesty has moved to a whole new level of Whacky.

I bought a dress today.  A dress that I have no specific or valid location to wear to.  While cocooned in the soft white drapes of the mall department store change room, I managed to successfully have a conversation with my sister, in my head, on the pros and cons of ‘the dress’.

 

Amnesty:  I look like a Christmas tree.

Stylish Sis: A hot Christmas tree.

Amnesty: Who buys a dress with no place to wear it to?????

Stylish Sis:  “*syntax error* – fatal.  does not compute………”

Amnesty:  ……errr….

Stylish Sis: BUY THE DRESS YOU MORON!!!! ARGH!!!!!

 

Sis can be scary….I bought the dress.

*Click*…What a lovely sound

One day, when I realise I’ve crossed nearly everything off my “to-do” list and am Queen Supreme Ruler of World (because face it, that’s probably the only thing that will be left to do!) I will hereby pass ‘Proposition Click ONCE’

I enjoy my time at intersections. Watching confused motorists whose knowledge of road rules lives in the 1940s, appreciating my baby-free status as toddlers throw sugar tantys at mothers with too-tight trackie dacks and the soothing resonance of melodies emitting from my ipod. Don’t you even dare to interrupt my appreciation of the complexities of jazz drum solos with a little amateur version of your own.

CLICK-CLICK-CLIKITY-CLICK-CLICK-CLICKITY-CLICK-CLICK-CLICK-CLICK!!!!!!!!!!!

Yes you moron, of course now the traffic lights realise you’re in an extreme hurry to make it to Boost Juice before 12:23pm for your shot of blended algae grass and as you’ve just pressed the button a scientifically precise 2,300 clicks to a minute, you’ve unlocked the secret halt code and the lights immobolise the universe so you mutter your way across the street.

Ahem….so in closing….click once please people….and make the world a better place for all (okay…well, actually just me, but that should be motiviation enough)

Oh and a simple finger push is fine…no need to whack the button with the sheer force of your palm as if you know the $1 million showcase answer.

Now it’s your turn to ponder….

Trumping the Dyson

Today marks Week 2 of screen acting classes, a severe departure from the cosy cocoon that was my impro world. I truly feel like a dyslexic child in a Complete History of 15th Century German Colloquialisms class. I get the concepts, I read the theories and understand the underlying themes and character aims, I soak up information to quench my thirst to know more more more and yet – I just can’t make the pieces fit. Granted, it is only Week 2 of 8 but I have place such high expections on myself that it is frustrating at my complete lack of progress.

Impro comes naturally and flows easily for me, I appreciate the skills and dexterity I already unknowingly had built up over this year’s studies. To be fair, today my scene partner came late, didn’t know their lines and skipped over a bunch even with script in hand, but the blame cannot be laid solely at their feet. A sucky Saddle Club script can only do so much for you but still my inner teacher’s pet sulked all the train ride home about the woes of critical feedback. I feel like a complete giant whale out of water and yet still strangely determined to prove I can do this.

And to continue the theme of dramatic self revelations I’ve come to understand my own self imposed theory of my “success” is quite flawed. I’ve always felt that I could succeed at anything I try, because well, I always have. But now I’m starting to wonder if it’s not so much succeeding at the things I do, but rather an innate self deception honed to purposely avoid the hard path so as not to ever “struggle” or put in the hard yards for something. I’m a coaster, cruising down the coastal road (cause face it, city roads are not made for cruising, pollution whacks you in the face harder than a loaded freight train). I’m not a failure cause I haven’t tried to fail at all.

So strangely, in a warped kind of way I’m kind of glad that I have absolutely train-wrecked these past 2 classes and sucked more than a Dyson vacuum cleaner.

Weird.

Pondering this thought

Amnesty