Theatre gives me back to myself. The strange stillness between “places” and “curtain” is still a moment of grace; possibilities still whisper like ghosts across the dark stage. I feel like a ghost myself. I forget fear. It is a kind of death, to walk onstage without the weight of my own shape. It is a kind of birth, to reclaim the raw and uncomplicated right to be the bright, solid center of the universe, even if it is just for a moment, or a minute, or an hour and a half. I want to be the woman whose voice came out of me tonight. I want to walk in the world with the flame of spirit flicking above me. I want that moment of grace to descend upon my entire life, turning everything to that silence, and then—
the lights, the exhalation, and the first echoing fall of my heel on the black boards.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Monday, November 3, 2008
Observation:
Why is it so difficult to get work done at home? I have taken to making the 2 hour communte from my apartment to Limerick's city centre for the sole purpose of sitting in a cafe for a couple of hours, refreshing my pot of mint tea on occasion, and writing up a backlog of continuous assessment journals for my classes that could have been written just as easily at the table in my living room back home. I could have saved myself the commute, and I wouldn't have had to change out of my pajamas and into these pesky high heeled boots... what's wrong with me?
I suppose being out in public and looking like a person puts on the necessary pressure to be as productive as I look... while at home, I will more often than not waste entire evenings reading "extracurricular" library books, listening to podcasts, taking bubble baths, "renting" mediocre movies from itunes, and checking my email inbox at regular intervals for no reason.
I need to start doing things more suitable to my status as expat-in-training, like "making weekend jaunts to the continent," and "drinking." Friends tell wild tales of their year abroad, and seem to view it in the light of the Grand Tour of bygone days... a chance to sow some wild oats and get all of the ungentlemanly/unladylike behavior out of one's system as far from the restrictions and repercussions of home as possible. Alas, my adventures thus far read more like Bridget Jones than Anais Nin. I will just have to start making things up.
I suppose being out in public and looking like a person puts on the necessary pressure to be as productive as I look... while at home, I will more often than not waste entire evenings reading "extracurricular" library books, listening to podcasts, taking bubble baths, "renting" mediocre movies from itunes, and checking my email inbox at regular intervals for no reason.
I need to start doing things more suitable to my status as expat-in-training, like "making weekend jaunts to the continent," and "drinking." Friends tell wild tales of their year abroad, and seem to view it in the light of the Grand Tour of bygone days... a chance to sow some wild oats and get all of the ungentlemanly/unladylike behavior out of one's system as far from the restrictions and repercussions of home as possible. Alas, my adventures thus far read more like Bridget Jones than Anais Nin. I will just have to start making things up.
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