• Mood: nostalgic
• Music: 'Hotel', Tori Amos.

That was interesting.

Something very strange happened earlier. I arrived at the Guildhall for my singing lesson about twenty minutes early, and as I was walking up to the doors I suddenly had a very clear vision of myself, at every age up until 18, looking at me with absolute loathing. I blinked and heard myself say to myself, "Look, you made it to the Guildhall. Aren't you clever. But, wait - you're here singing. You're not here acting. You're not acting. Bitch, how could you?"
~shakes head~ I swear.
I went inside in tears and sat in a corner for a bit, meeping quietly. Managed to just about pull myself together and went up to my lesson, but my teacher - because she's like that - just asked me what was wrong.
And so I told her.

I've always wanted to act, but I put a lid on it, damn it, I closed that book when I was fifteen when my drama teacher told me I'd never really be able to. And the book's stayed closed, and I've been fine.

Until, of course, I ran into someone who's been involved in theatre of many kinds for the last few years. Apparently listening to them talk has been enough to break open those old wounds.

And I told my teacher, and she went on about how I should never have been told that at fifteen, and that it's still possible, but I know it isn't, really. But I wish. Oh, you've no idea how I wish.

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My love and thoughts with wildeabandon and deliberateblank.

E.
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