that's the truth
My show was last night. I bombed. I totally, totally bombed. I bombed it so badly that even though it's only the day after, I've already blocked it from my memory. All I have of it in my mind is one little flash of me standing on stage stammering, having absolutely no idea what I'm supposed to say next, or which character I'm supposed to be. I have no idea how I managed to get myself off the stage. I know it was bad, really bad, because I've talked to several people who've seen it, and when I asked, "Was it bad?" they all said "...yeah... it was really bad." I haven't been able to do anything all day except sit in my room moaning and gently banging my head on the wall. I never want to go outside again. I only had one shot at this thing, and I totally, totally blew it.
So you can imagine how relieved I was when I woke up this morning and suddenly realized that the show hasn't happened yet, and that was all a dream. The show is tonight.
Yesterday people kept asking me if I was nervous about today, and I kept saying no, because it just hasn't hit me yet. But I guess there's some subconscious anxiety going on.
The Truth About Goldfish. 7pm tonight, Buddies in Bad Times Theatre (12 Alexander St), $15.
So you can imagine how relieved I was when I woke up this morning and suddenly realized that the show hasn't happened yet, and that was all a dream. The show is tonight.
Yesterday people kept asking me if I was nervous about today, and I kept saying no, because it just hasn't hit me yet. But I guess there's some subconscious anxiety going on.
The Truth About Goldfish. 7pm tonight, Buddies in Bad Times Theatre (12 Alexander St), $15.