The week of four performances in a row is over.  I’ve had the weekend to recover and I’m home for a few days for Reading Week. I was going to put this off, but I read another kid in my program’s blog and it inspired me to get this in.

I want to be in a sketch troupe.

I want to write things with clever people and perform them.  The Archival Sketch Show was so exhilarating it had many of us in the class talking about how the next logical step is to get together with some folks, write and get some performances done.  Shit, the college has set up a sketch performance night at Comedy Bar every Monday, which apparently is going to go under if students don’t start showing up.  The problem?   I need a sketch troupe.  My general anxiety about what people think of me prevents me from flat out asking people to get together to do some writing and my inner (very powerful) critic is worried about being too harsh about who I want to and, particularly, who I do NOT want to write with.

I want to be in an improv troupe.

My classes at ITC are going well.  Today, I was a stealth cow.  I didn’t think twice about entering the scene on my hands and knees. I feel like if this had been the beginning of the semester, I might have been more hesitant.  I feel completely refreshed to know that my social censor is fading and that I’m opening up to the possibilities involved with creating imaginary environments and situations. Luckily, if I stick with ITC, I can audition to be in a student troupe.  At school, well, it’s the same process as the sketch thing, isn’t it?

In one week, all of these desires to work with others and perform have been overwhelming.  This week, I’d also been given the opportunity to work and perform with some students from a section other than my own.   That, as well, was exciting.   There’s so much talent in this program.  So many connections that could be made if I could just know others were as serious and as dedicated about doing this as I am.

But I get mixed messages.  Always mixed messages.  And at the end of the day, I sit alone on a couch in my parent’s basement musing self-interested bullshit instead of collaborating genius ideas with those I fear cannot stand me.

Insecurity, defined.

Happy Reading Week!