You would think from my lack of posts lately that I was horrendously busy. In a way I have been, but nothing fun, I assure you. My world has been full of trying to find a roommate which is it's own kind of hell. Suffice it to say that (fingers crossed, knock on wood, please God) there might be an end in sight.
In between posting on Craig's List and petting my lonely cat, I've been exercising (miracle of miracles) by walking to the theatre for our many play readings, the latest of which was called Mutabilitie. Through a lack of attendance, I was called upon to read the role of Annas, a sweet Irish princess who falls for a licentious Englishman. After fairly little convincing from a character known as "The File," Annas betrays him to his bloody death.
There was also a character named William who kept talking about writing plays and poetry, being a "bard," and the river Avon. And yet, it took me a disgusting period of time to figure out that it was William SHAKESPEARE! Even after he said, "Shall I compare thee to a summer's day..." I STILL didn't get it. I'm losing my touch, obviously.
Coming up on Saturday is The Lieutenant of Inismore which I've been hearing about for years. My entire knowledge of it is that it involves a trained cat, two disembowellings on stage, made Barry fall out of his chair with laughter, and that we've been trying to get the rights for it for years. My morbid curiosity is killing me.
And next Monday? A Streetcar Named Desire, which I'm less than excited about. But since I've never seen nor read it, I'm reserving judgement until I can make an educated decision.
Such is the mayhem of my life.
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