Clerics and Divas

My life is weird.

The husband and one of my best friends play DnD, and have pulled me into it.  I mostly get it... kinda.  I am learning.  I mostly play because I enjoy the company and the wine.  The Friend is a true wine lover.  He brings amazing wines, way better than the stuff I stock my (now empty) cellar with.  He and I can put away two bottles over the course of an evening.  And so we roll dice and play DnD, and I sit there smiling with my buzz as we slay the Undead.

Yeah, that is how they piqued my interest.  I mostly thought DnD was for crazy nerd guys.  Friend corrected me in that... or rather, he confirmed that it is for crazy nerd guys, but chicks play too, and it can be fun.  Still, I was resistant and reluctant to try to decipher all the code (2d8+Int mod.).  And so they dangled zombies before my eyes.

I cannot resist zombies, apparently.  So, we are playing this crazy campaign in which we are serving the Raven Queen (goddess of death, but not the dead, an important distinction, apparently), and on a mission to eradicate that which defies nature by not remaining dead.  I am playing a battle cleric.  I heal party members but I also hurt stuff... mostly the undead.  I have been dragged kicking and screaming into playing a second character-- a warlock.  I am basing her on Hermione from the Harry Potter series, but apparently that is going to wreck havoc on the party.  Nerds...

I am a week away from opening the show I have been rehearsing.  The entire process has been a reminder about why I don't do community theatre for me.  Apparently, one of the actresses had a MAJOR blowup last night at rehearsal.  I wish I'd been there.  But she made another actress cry, and upset the director, and has set my friend (a third actress) on edge.  She also threatened to drop out of the show... the show that goes up in, oh, NINE DAYS....  My friend is convinced that I could take the role if that actress carries out her threat.  Sigh.  I just wanted to do my job-- walk on and off, deliver my character and lines with precision and attention, and support the show.

I once directed a production of Our Town here.  The week before we went up, I told the actress playing the Stage Manager to just use the script, which was part of her props anyway.... She got her knickers in a twist and dropped out of the show.  I was the one who came out badly from that-- I was difficult to work with and unreasonable and mean.  She did no damage to her reputation whatsoever.  

Community theatre kinda sucks.

The through line here, and there is one, is that DnD is better than community theatre, at least at my house.  There is more wine and less whining.  There is good company and no dysfunctional theatre companies.  And all the divas are actual characters, rather than divas PLAYING characters.

I really need to retire from acting.  Roll a d6....

The inability to focus

I should be writing.  The Boy has been in school for over two weeks now.  The Husband, although home sick, is upstairs.  I have a new phone, but I figured it out.  The dishwasher is empty.  The library books are read.  The dog isn't bugging me-- she is sprawled out on the floor, not even snoring.  The weather is kinda dreary-- not enticing me to go outside and weed at all.  The house, although in clear need of the vacuum, is not terrible, and there is no one coming to visit any time soon.

So why am I blogging instead of tearing into the book?  The book is done.  Yeah, I have lots of things I can keep working on.  But, I could edit until the end of the world.  I just need to send it out to the people who have agreed to read it.

I am feeling unfocused, kinda blurry even.  I cannot keep from daydreaming.  I have no real desire to do anything.  I am not depressed-- I know what that is.  I am just going through the motions right now.  Part of me knows I need to recharge my batteries.  I have failed MISERABLY at Plan 3-- the whole taking time for me thing.  And this last two months have been terrible for that.  The OAP festival, the wedding, the houseguests, the illnesses, the Husband being gone for ten days and now ill for the third week running.  I am getting to take two days in October for myself, but not until the fourth weekend of October.

People can live for like six minutes without oxygen.  A day with no water.  A week with no sleep.  A month with no food.

How long can a person live without a recharge?  My guess is a long time.  But is it really living, or is it just living?

Irony

I vowed here to give up acting, right? I read it here. And here. I shared how suddenly I got some offers. Granted, they were for unpaid work. But, still, there they were. But that was gonna be it, right?

And then I checked my email that afternoon.... "Blah blah blah. Hey, will you be one of the actors in the new Christmas Follies?"

And then this week. "Hi, I own a murder mystery company,and would like to bring you on board, if you are interested."

So, here, I publicly declare: I no longer want a million dollars. Nope. I will give up my dream of a million dollars.

Oh, wait. That doesn't work. I have to reluctantly give up something that I care about, like acting, in hopes that the itch of something new, like writing, will be scratched. Remember what this blog is about, remember? "Not Doing It"

I really enjoy writing, and feel great satisfaction when I am writing. I feel this low grade urge ALL THE PHUCKING TIME to dive back into The General's Heir and finish that mutherphucker. I also have this new writing idea about zombies. I know, old hat now, but the itch doesn't care. This idea is simmering just like The General's Heir did. How I want to dig in...

And yet, acting calls, if you can call the clamoring a 'call'. More like a brick of noise to the side of the head. I won't do the follies, I think. One, I don't really want to, even if I love the producer. Two, really, if I am going to get pulled out of my writing from now on, it DAMN well better be for a paycheck. I am a mercenary, if nothing else. Or maybe a whore? Ha! I can see it now....

ME: Sorry, honey, no sex tonight-- I have to write.

HIM: Write? But I just put on the camo briefs you like!

ME: Think of this as my job. Just like the acting gigs.

HIM: Nope.

ME: What?

HIM: You are gonna have to spell it out for me. If I'm not getting any tonight, you have to explain.

ME: Okay, so, when I am sitting at the computer from 8-12 tonight, I am writing my book.

HIM: I thought you were finished with it!

ME: You are right. I am trying to finish the edits!

HIM: How is this like the acting gigs? I haven't seen you depositing any checks.

ME: Think about it like the rehearsals for the acting gigs. The paycheck just comes a little later.

HIM: I can buy that, I guess. But what is your time worth?

ME: Huh?

HIM: So, you have an acting gig. How much do you get paid?

ME: A hundred, I think, usually.

HIM: Huh. And how long are you gone when doing the acting gig?

ME: Oh, the usual? Two hours for the actual gig, but add another two for travel. So, four hours?

Him: So, you get twenty-five an hour for your time. Is that right?

ME: ...Well, I guess... when you put it like that...

HIM: And that doesn't include the rehearsal time, does it?

ME: ...Not as such...

HIM: 'Cause, hell, I have a twenty in my wallet, and we can be done in half an hour.

ME: ...Uh...

HIM: And, I will throw in a big O for you! You cannot get that kind of satisfaction from your paid gigs!

ME: ...But I am an Artist!

HIM: Artists gotta eat. Or, well, you know what I mean.

ME: But-

HIM: And you won't have to travel any farther than upstairs. And when we are done, you can go back downstairs and write!

ME: But I have to be in the right frame of mind, in the zone! I cannot just get on the computer and go through the motions, and fake it....

HIM: Uh-huh? What were you about to say?

ME: ...Um, get upstairs. And I will put on the sexy shoes.

(Apologies to the Hubby. He is incredibly supportive. Oh, and Happy Birthday to me. I am officially old now.)