I haven’t been pacing as regularly I have in recent years. Pacing has always provided a reasonable sense of comfort for me, and it really has to do with the fact that when I pace, I think. I think hard. I can be pacing for a half hour, and it will feel like I have figured out my life and then some. I used to get into some pretty deep thoughts and would catch myself pacing without even having to think about it. There is some odd connection there, but I’m afraid it has been severed. It’s been going on almost two months that I haven’t fallen into my repetitive trance, and I believe it has been that long since I have deeply examined anything.
That fucking sucks - I don’t even know how else to put it.
To make up for that, I have been reading a far more considerable amount than what I was a few months back. I have been falling back into plays, getting lost in characters that I so loosely relate to. It’s as though writings made for the stage are meant to do that, just hook you long enough for a story to be told. I can’t seem to really find anything worth wanting to embody. I’ve got two auditions for plays going on here in the city next week, and I’ve got absolutely zilch prepared for them. I’m going to have to force a connection to something soon. A new head shot will definitely make me feel better too.
I’ve got to go find something better to talk about, something better to look into. Acting bores me to tears, and there is nothing more noticeable than a bored performer - you wear that worse than the heaviest of bags when you’ve got it.