I feel good. Like, really good. Like, back on track-gonna make it happen-who's your daddy good. I can't remember the last time I had a vacation that was actually a vacation. Where I didn't have to think of what's next or what's now, but just rest. Sure, the past two weeks have given me time to deal with what was. But even that is a luxury. I hadn't realized how long I've been putting off just dealing with myself. Figuring out why I'm feeling a certain way. I've been able to really decompress, sift through the muddy garbage that's been clinging to me, and I feel like I have some clarity. I just hope I'm able to hold onto it for my final three months here.
Somewhere along day 11 or 12 of vacay, I got this feeling of excitement about a new beginning again. About the end grad school and really putting the pedal to the metal and getting out there and making things happen. It was the first time I thought of "the after" and didn't feel completely shit-your-pants-petrified. The fear is still there. But there's something more now. It's like a little mental cheer leader/dominatrix cracking her whip saying, "ooooooooo it's time to make things happen."
But back to the vacation. Malta was perfect. Sure the hotel was below par, we had no air conditioning the first night, and when we tried to boil water in the kettle it blew the electricity in our room...three times, but that didn't matter. We (KS, and I) wanted quiet, to read tons of books for fun, and get sun, to swim in the pool, to walk around the local town, and to swim in the blue lagoon. Check, check, check, check, check, check, check, and check. Photos are up on facebook if you care to take a gander.
I look in the mirror now and see a healthier skin tone and a more relaxed face. We lived off of granola bars and hodge podge sandwiches that we assembled from a tiny bodega down the street. We barely spent any money on food except for those two pizzas on the terrace and a glass of REALLY lovely white Maltese wine. And in the end, miraculously, I even lost a pound.
What's more, I laughed my ass off at least once a day. The filter and reservation that I keep a tight strangle hold on (most of time I don't realize I do it) slipped and we had some seriously silly and stupid moments. Which was really great. It's a side I don't see of myself often and that I wish would come out more. KS is good about that. I feel completely comfortable making an ass out of myself, and we can occupy a room for hours reading and not feel like we have to entertain each other. That's rare for me. Normally I get homocidal after a few days. But ten days and we never had a hitch. But then again, I could see on her face how badly she needed this kind of vacation, too.
But yes, I caught myself laughing at myself in the shower remembering something I did, we did reenactments of Titanic on the balcony, and were ridiculous both times we had a layover in Dusseldorf, Germany. Which by the way is the quietest airport I've ever been to. Stupid case in point: I believe there was an instance where I referred to a bum as a Buh Danke Danke.
After Malta we flew into London and drove to Oxford to KS's mum's cottage. Like a real cottage. It was like something out of "The Holiday" movie. Older than my country, surrounded by gardens, horses running next store, church bells in the distance, and peace and quiet. Oh. Yes please. Her mum made wholewheat homemade pancakes which were AMAZING and for dinner Kate made homemade wheat pizzas which were incredible. The first day all we did was sit on the couch eating HobNobs (I will miss these), drinking tea, and watching Bridezillas and Wimbledon. I really got into tennis for the first time (although Nadal really needs to get a new tick. The whole picking wedgie and then rubbing his nose thing...ew). And I also watched Faulty Towers for the first time which apparently is iconic.
The next day we went into Oxford to walk around the University a bit. Whoa, people. Talk about money, ancient tradition, and gorgeous architecture. You could just smell the Eliteness. And I felt a bit of a pang. I would have loved to go to a school like that. I admit it, I like prestige. Oxford, to me, is right up there with Yale or USC. And the power of a name...well it may cost a lot, but the amount of doors that open to you...well it's almost worth it. But I am where I'm meant to be. And I'm pretty darn happy about it. So whatever.
Anywhoo, then I hopped a bus to Stratford-upon-Avon. Just a day by myself, walking around the small town, seeing where Shakespeare was born and where he died, seeing the Royal Shakespeare Company theatre buildings, the small shops, the small river. It's the epitome of quaint. I stopped into a small cafe (avoiding the Starbucks and Costas and Neros because it just felt wrong to choose a conglomerate in such an historical setting) and proceeded to have a really nice cup of coffee and the best strawberry cream cake ever. I sat reading, by myself, with a huge grin on my face, content.
The train ride back into Glasgow was eventful. We got up extra early and took a bus into London, then the subway to the train station. Then we took the train towards home. But about three hours into it the conductor came on the intercom to tell us that there was a landslide and we had to get off the train because it's been cancelled. This is where the efficiency should come in. But alas, this is the UK, where efficiency is a dirty word. We and a couple hundred people waited for coach buses. Not enough arrived. So KS and I followed a rather good looking talkative gent onto a train from Preston to Oxelholm. He entertained us the whole way. Then after more waiting, they put us on an hour long cab ride from Oxelholm to Carlisle. Then another train from Carlisle to Glasgow. It was a very long day. And as we came into Glasgow Central, I sat there thinking "this is the first time I'm not uber enthused to start back up again." Being relaxed is addicting.
The following day I was up early to go to a conference that was being held at the RCS. It was geared towards voice and speech teachers but they allowed a few actors to come as well. I was hoping to get some good seminars out of the bunch and one of the speakers was John Tiffany, the artistic director of the NTS (National Theatre of Scotland). Big cheese. So I went. and I have to say, the best thing about it was the food. I learned very little. And it just reminded me that I've been in school way too long. I am in NO way saying I know everything. It is IMPOSSIBLE to know everything in acting. But you can only get the basics so many times before it just becomes annoying. There really comes a point when it's just time TO DO. To experience through doing. To get a job, and learn on it. And I think that's where I'm at. There are times that I worry that I'll come back to NYC and get out there and get a big ol' shock in that I'm below par. But mostly, I just know that it's time to stop being a student and get out there. But anyway, the people were nice at the conference. The cake pops were nummy. And the glass of wine and excessive amounts of coffee I drank were much appreciated.
Other than that, I've been trying to get my life in order to start again tomorrow with a week of seminars. woop. woop. But I feel good. And that's just dandy.
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