Why is my life so disappointing? It's two days before the Fringe, beautifully and surprisingly warm, I have the Skinny office to myself and I can't can't conquer that sense that life is shit.
Of course, I am musing on past romantic failures. I am also looking at the number of previews I thought I would write, and realising that some really good interviews are going to get lost. I am not even sure whether my list of writers for The Shimmy is complete, and missing one of them from an email could mean losing a PhD candidate's thoughts on their dream show. I've put together an amazing team to write The Shimmy. As long as I get out of their way, they will demonstrate that The Fringe doesn't have to be amateur hour for reviewing.
The answer, as any self-help guru will tell you, is that my perception is the problem. In some way, I want this disappointment. If I were happy, I wouldn't be chasing the dream, the moment of intense clarity that happens when a performance hits the right note. Ecstasy needs despair, God needs the devil and I need life to be shit so art can be the toilet paper.
I am just taking a quiet time out here, so that I can get my emo on. It's lucky I have no attention span... what's this in my inbox? An interview from a stripper...
No comments :
Post a Comment