don't go in the water.

I am so tired.

It's only Tuesday. To recap, I've had my first playwriting class, my first film story analysis class (in which we watched and analyzed My Darling Clementine which is, simply put, not as good as Tombstone, though worth a peek if you really like the story of Wyatt Earp and Doc Holliday, because Henry Fonda is a pretty handsome Wyatt and Victor Mature rocks a malicious-looking Doc), my first screenwriting class, and my first drama lab (which, I have determined, is going to be the class that gives me the most anxiety attacks).

It's worth noting that before I had my interview for this program, I was going over all the things I should and should not say to the faculty during the interview with my mother. At one point, I blurted out: I've never been outside the US, I hate planes and boats and I'm afraid of sharks and open water, PLEASE let me into your program on an island in Southeast Asia!!!

...My mother, of course, burst out laughing at me and suggested I not tell them these things.

Fast forward a few months to my orientation playwriting class when Bill asked me, "What is your greatest fear?" A wiseass by nature, I answered, "Open water."

We have to watch Jaws for screenwriting next week. I wonder if I did this to myself. Probably.

And oh, drama lab. Where do I even begin.

The basic principle behind drama lab is that we get to see our work directed by actual directors, and performed by actual actors. Unfortunately, it seems Singapore rather has a derth of reliable actors, and so sometimes we have to perform in our classmates' pieces. My acting teachers, from when I was like 8-18, would be laughing their asses off, collectively. As are, no doubt, all my friends from college who know how the idea of getting on a stage gives me an instant panic attack.

So of COURSE in our first class we had no actors, and we had no scripts, so were given characters and instructed to improvise a scene. I was fortunate enough to be paired with D -- bless him, he put up with my bitchiness and so did our director-classmate. The panic typically comes across as extreme bitchiness, and though I recognize it enough to apologize for it later, in the moment I just seem difficult and angry. Because it's SCARY. There is, of course, this very ponderous and contradictory thrill that I still feel when I step on-stage to inhabit a character -- even a 64-year old Chinese mother, apparently, go figure.

In the end, our scene was a success. But I still dread having to do this again. And I know I will. But I guess there's no learning without fear, right? Or something about how a thing isn't worth doing if it doesn't scare us? I've said something like that on here before, so I can't take it back now. But goddamn if I don't hate that class already. I hate it just enough to defeat it.

So otherwise, I have a LOT of writing to do. And a LOT of reading. And a LOT of film-viewing. Fortunately, we don't have anything due in playwriting tomorrow morning, so I think I will curl up here with Tombstone and let my poor brain take a rest.

I love how it's not even Wednesday. Wtf, grad school? At least my professors make no bones about how much money we're paying for this, and they intend to make it worth the tuition.

Anyway. Why Kate -- where is your bustle?