Tag Archives: Improv

“An Epistolary Tryst”

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I’m going to lead with saying I’m on day three of a headache and two off nights at improv class. My last Hideout elective class was Monday and I just couldn’t get it together. Timing, relationship, game, characters — it felt terrible. Last night at Coldtowne we met our new teacher (ladies and gentlemen, we have an official instructor) and class (for me, anyway) didn’t seem to take off. I don’t know if this is because we only have three people in class, or because of all the reasons I gave for Monday night’s Hideout class, but still — no good.

I’m not going to blame the headaches. The subsequent large doses of Vicodin and knock-out-a-bull potent ibuprofen that I had to keep swallowing to feel stable enough to participate? I’m not going to not blame that either.

Essentially, I’m responsible for the consequences of my actions, regardless of the control I felt I had over them.

Whoa. I just explained in a missive I just sent that I was going to keep this construct top of mind to see if I could find everyday occurrences in my life to tie this awareness to and I JUST did.

Mind. Blown.

A friend of mine sent me a Facebook message saying she woke up worried about me because of a dream she had the night before. I knew her very well a million years ago in junior high and high school (more so the former) and it was really very unsettling to spend the whole day wondering what shift in the cosmics tapped her shoulder in dreamland. Whatever it was, it was a strong enough push to make her reach out.

Waiting for signs always freaks me out because I look at everything as a possible portend and walk around touching life with kid gloves. No good.

You know what is good? All the other things in life that are making my lights on the inside shine a little brighter.

“Starts like fascination…

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… ends up like a trance.”

I really, really should back off the Costello binge. Clearly.

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I spent Memorial Day in a three-day intensive improv workshop at The Hideout with a kick-ass group of mostly strangers learning more about how to unlearn, and working with narrative improv structure.

Was it exhausting — both mentally and physically? Yes. By Tuesday I had very little left to give, but since I had my regular (though, still snafued) Coldtowne class and the Improv Collective mixer that night, I gave it anyway.

Was it BRILLIANT? Yes. Yes times fifty million. I’m still trying to process all the notes and direction. And because I have the mental retention of a gnat, I keep going back to the notes to remind myself of all the things I need to remember (and need to remember to forget).

I’ve spent this week trying to re-up my energy levels (failing miserably at it, mind you) and spending more cash in co-pays than I’d like. I’m going to have more, much more I hope, to scribble about next week, as I’ve got a list to check off and getting more ink in my vodka is damn near at the top.

God Save the Queen

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I managed to wake up at 4 a.m. this morning to get my royal wedding on. This was my spread:

WF sold out of scones by the time I got there (I took a last-minute improv elective last night — SO WORTH IT) and in my post-playing butterflies and giddiness I went a little balls with my breakfast feast: (almost) scones (AKA cream biscuits), raspberry jam, Devon clotted cream, Lincolnshire cheddar, Branston Pickle, tiny bottle of champagne, OJ and sticky toffee pudding.

I didn’t share any of it with the asshole cat, who got angry with me for waking him up so early (I understand that timber of meow, thank you.) and made it all the way through half of a giant pot of tea and everything but the pudding. SO FULL at 6 a.m. Decided to do laundry.

THIS IS SUCH AN INTERESTING BLOG. Food! Laundry! Please tell me about brushing your teeth.

I might go back to sleep. Sleep would be good. I have to work at 9.

Friday, Friday, what’s good to do on this Friday night?

“Battle for Middle You”

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Last week I had an apicoectomy for my zombie tooth. Three root canals didn’t work, so this was the final option. I now have stitches in my gums and a pain in my face. Chipmunk cheek has subsided though. That’s nice.

I ironed my sheets on Friday. All the bedding, pillowcases and the duvet. Crawling into a clean, freshly ironed bed was divine. Luxurious, even. Chances it will happen again are slim to none. I blame the painkillers for the sudden surge of domesticity.

Tonight is the last class of the second session of improv at Coldtowne. People keep asking what I’m planning on doing and why I’m still taking these classes. As if there’s an end game. Is there? I’m not sure yet. All I know is that I want to keep laughing. Everything else is lagniappe.

Speech hipped me to this track today by Julio Bashmore. It’s fitting nicely in the holes of my brain.