March 29th - April 4th

March 29th - April 4th

Sunday

I always wondered how I would begin my book and every Sunday when I start writing about my new week I think about it.  I keep toying with ideas for the title.  I'll consult Tim, he's good at things like that.

I didn't really do anything on Sunday other than some work for school, watch movies with the commentary on and stream episodes of Weeds.  Felt pretty self-deprecating today.  

Monday

Finally gave up and went to the doctor (aka GP) who told me I shouldn't be on the meds I'm on, and prescribed me migraine medication.  I'm going back on Friday for another chat after I've researched the meds he wants me to be on.  I was stressing big time because I don't like doctors or people telling me what I should be doing who don't know me.  I'm also wary of doctors shoving prescriptions in my face instead of really looking at what the problem is and trying to come up with some holistic treatment.  Regardless, I told him I would come back after I was convinced he was right.  I'm such a brat.  No offense to him, he just doesn't know anything about my medical past, and certainly can't learn enough about me in five minutes to make me change my whole routine.  

I got there really early, as I'd never been to this part of town before and sat in Russell Square reading as the sun was rising.  It was really beautiful.  

Fountain at Russell Square...

Artsy bench photo.

Tree as the morning sun is rising.

Tuesday

Note: I am not witty this week.  Jen and my mom were cracking up over my post last week, but I have nothing even remotely funny to report on.  Except for maybe the fact that I am having email withdrawal...?  I vowed to give it up for a week to prove a point.  I've made it four days without it.  Impressed?  You should be.  Now if I only I had that will power when it came to chocolate.  I need to get back to the gym after I'm recovered from being sick.  

I went over to Kate's around 1pm and she's made us lunch: falafel, hummus, tomato and baby spinach on pita with a spicy lentil soup.  I was wary of the lentil soup because Adrianne had a bad experience with them in her Germany cooking experiments.  Everything was really tasty though.  Then we did some work on phonetics, which was the point of me coming over.  We listened to audio clips from Tim Birkett and then transcribed what we heard to the best of our ability then compared our answers with the answer sheet.  We really should have been doing this work throughout the term, but it was the one thing we weren't being assessed on this term, so I figured it was okay to focus my attention elsewhere.  Priorities, and all that.  

Wednesday

I went to bed at 3am.  Why?  Why can't I get any sleep?  Also bad: I caved and sent an email.  Shame on me.  I have no self-control.  

I went to Blackheath Halls for my Trinity students' rehearsal.  It was their first time running the plays in this space, which as you can see below is a cavernous, poorly built acoustic death chamber.  When I got there, which was pretty early I chatted to James, the director.  I told him this space was awful and he agreed.  I mean, aesthetically, it looks okay, but I could barely hear the actors speak when I sat in the front row.  So I stood in the back of the hall and had them adjust their volume, clarity, support, etc. to the needs of the space.  This is not a fun process.  I ended up having to literally put the actors on the opposite sides of the room to get them to experience how loud they needed to be.  I was at the hall from 11am to 6pm.  Let's just say I was tired when I came home.   Tomorrow is their dress rehearsal and then their performance.  Then I am truly, without a doubt, on holiday - no strings attached.  

Blackheath Hall

Blackheath Station at sunset

Train ride home.

Thursday

Went to bed at 3am again.  What is going on?  I was awoken at 7am by a Skype call which lasted for about three hours and dealt with things way beyond my emotional capacity.  Then I tried to sleep again (quite unsuccessfully) and then got up, got ready and left for Blackheath.  I was so excited yesterday for my students' show.  But now I had to sit in a dark theater, not able to talk about the morning's emotionally jarring events, sit through a dress rehearsal from 2pm-5pm then a show from 7pm-10pm.  By the time I got home I thought I was going to spontaneously combust.  

Well, to begin with, I was kind of a zombie during the dress rehearsal.  I even forgot to take vocal notes, but luckily my short-term memory isn't so bad, so I was able to give a few pertinent notes.   After the dress rehearsal I went to a deli to get something to eat before the show.  When I walked back with my sandwich the students were sitting on the steps outside the hall.  I sat with them and they picked my brain about NYC and going to school at CSSD and my life, etc.  They always make me feel really old, even if they're only a few years younger than me.  Really unhip (who wants to be hip though?) and really old.  They even made fun of me when I said, "Cool," because apparently that's outdated.  I give up.  

It was especially warm and the sun was going down.  I feel like when I talk about CSSD or how I got to London it's the same story over and over.  People ask me all the time where I'm from and how did I get to CSSD.  I wish I had a flyer to hand them to read or something.  I've said it so many times I think why does anyone care about this?  

When it was time to get them warmed up I did my thing and then I taught them something Jason Sirois showed us as a theatre company ritual before every show where we all have to clap at the same time to prove that we're listening to each other, on the same wavelength and focused.  All that good stuff.  They really liked it.  I was so excited for them.  They've worked so hard.  During the show one of my student's mom sat next to me.  She chatted me up about everything (same schpeel, different person) but the weird part was when she first introduced herself.  She said, "Oh, are you a 2nd year FdA?"  

"No, I'm the voice coach.  I'm from Central School of Speech and Drama."

"Oh my!  Love, I would've had no idea!  You look like you're 18.  I would've never known!"

"I'm 23.  I'm on a Master's course, actually."

"No more than 18, I swear.  You lucky girl."

Does this make me lucky?  I don't know.  I am in such a weird place where people younger than me think I'm old and people older than me think I'm young.  I certainly don't feel 23.  I guess the only thing I'm really worried about is that when I apply for jobs no one will take me seriously.  That they'll think, What does this 23 year old know?  What experience could she possibly have had?

I talked to Tony (head of the FdA Musical Theatre program) who introduced me to a woman named Vicky.  I felt like I should've known who she was, but I didn't.  She seemed very impressed with the show and we talked about the program at CSSD (same schpeel, different person).  She asked what I'd be doing after the course was over and I told her about NYC and taking some time to try and find a job in the states first.  

She piped in, "Well, please make sure you forward your C.V. to me before you leave because I have every intention of hiring you if you come back.  We're always looking for good voice teachers."  Well okay then!  At least I know I've got options if I can't get hired in the states!

I left almost immediately after.  This was the last time I'd be seeing my students and I'd gotten pretty attached to them.  I was not in a good state of mind and didn't want to get emotional about possibly never seeing them again.   I was just so proud of them.  When I got home I talked to Jen about this morning.  She laughed a lot because I was kind of tripped up by the whole thing.   So much so that she and my mom kept asking if I was drunk or had taken drugs...Nope.  Sober as a judge.  Just not able to cope with people screwing with my head.  My head felt like a snow-globe that had been shaken a bit too hard.  I kept sitting with my forehead in my hands as though my head were filled with too much information and was too heavy to hold up.  That's exactly how I felt.  

Friday

I tried to go to bed at a reasonable hour but I didn't manage to fall asleep until almost 3am again.  What a mess.  I woke up around 8am, then fell back to sleep for a bit, then got up around 10am to get ready for my doctor's appointment.  I'd rehearsed my apology to this guy in my head.  I felt kind of bad for doubting his doctorly advice, but not bad enough to not wear my stick-it-to-the-man Warhol shirt, just for effect.  

If exhaustion were a tangible thing, it would be seeping out of my pores.  I stop at Starbucks on my way to my doctor's appointment to get my expensive drink of choice, a caramel hot chocolate.  It is so nice out that I am walking down Edgware Road in a just t-shirt (and pants of course) but I love their caramel hot chocolate, so I get it anyway.  The Starbucks is practically empty and there is a Spanish barista girl by herself behind the counter.  She's got a thick Spanish accent.  She asks me twice what size I want, once before I pay and once after when she is about to make the drink.  When I tell her "tall" for the second time she shakes her head "No", holds up the grande cup and then emphatically nods "Yes".   I must have SPENT written across my forehead in Sharpie or something.  She nods, knowingly, as if to say, "You need this."  I smirk and then make a face that says, "Yeah, you're right.  Way to call me out, senorita barista."  

I walk down Edgware Road to get the bus from outside Marble Arch Station.  I pass my favorite homeless man.  A one-legged man who is talking on his cell phone.  Classic.  I take the bus down Oxford Street to Tottenham Court Road and then walk the rest of the way.  I like that neighborhood.  It's near the British Museum and Russell Square.  There are some cobblestone streets there.  

When I get in I let the receptionist know who I am and then sit in the waiting room.  I stare blankly at the rack of books on the coffee table in the center of the room.  The rack is filled with titles like A Easy Guide to Dealing with Depression and A Pathway To Health: Recovering from Eating Disorders and Obesity: How much is too much?  I think Who writes these?!  I can feel a migraine creeping up behind my eyes.  I hate doctors.  I hate doctor's offices.  I hate medicine.  

Then my name is called and I am told to go to Room 3.  I walk in and to my right I see a woman seated, who looks like Shirley Henderson (aka Moaning Myrtle from Harry Potter) but with huge bags under her eyes and so much tension in her shoulders that they're only about three inches from her ears.  This is quite obviously not the 30-something year old male Indian doctor I had seen on Monday.  Clearly.  

  I begin to speak, "I had Dr. Murthi last time, and he said-"  

"No you didn't," she interrupts.  "You had Dr. Bastica," or whatever she said his name was.  I couldn't understand her.  "He doesn't usually work at this location."  

"Okay," I'm instantly annoyed.  "Well that guy said that I should be on a-" 

"Please sit down."  

"Oh, right.  Sorry."  

I put my bag down and sit with one leg tucked under me.  I tell her what the other doctor told me on Monday and she proceeds to give me the complete opposite medical advice.  Who am I supposed to trust here?  I'm 3,000 miles away from home, and I just don't want to get migraines anymore.  I just want to have some balance concerning my health.  Can someone just give me a straight answer?  

About 20 minutes after drilling her with questions regarding her prognosis, she's actually starting to make sense, once we've agreed on the type of migraine I've been having.  Then she asks me if I've been sleeping.  I start crying, as it's the last thing I want to talk about.  She looks really confused.  I start to tell her that I haven't been sleeping well for a few years, but that I don't want to be on any drugs.  She looks really confused and hands me a box of "medical tissues".  What does that even mean - medical tissues?  I start to wipe my eyes and nose and realize that "medical tissues" means "shitty tissues" as they start to fall apart in my hands.  

She prints off something and hands it to me.  It's a psychological health quiz.  Great.  I haven't gotten a good night's sleep in almost three weeks, I don't need this.  I think, I'm just tired lady, not crazy.  But she is just doing her job... 

I fill it out, hand it back to her and she says, "Oh, so sleep is the only issue." 

"Yes.  That's what I said."

So then she tells me all these different options for tablets that she can prescribe to help me sleep.  I remind her that I don't want to take any tablets; that I don't want to be a pill-popping zombie.  She seems to be at her rope's end.  She points to my grande Starbucks cup.  

"Are you a big coffee drinker then?"

"That's a hot chocolate, ma'am."

She laughs.  "I see.  Are you a smoker?"

"Nope."

"Do you drink alcohol?"

I shake my head and shrug.  "I'm not a big drinker.  I'm lucky if I get one drink a month.  I'm on a Master's course, I don't really have the time to go out drinking."  She seems really amused by this.

She starts to sort of half-ass placate me, "Well a Master's course can be very stressful.  Do you have relaxation methods to help you cope?"

"Well, I'm doing an MA in Voice Studies, so about 50% of what I'm learning is to do with breathing.  And...I've had an anxiety disorder since I was...16?  So yeah, I've got plenty of practice with 'coping' strategies."  I make air quotes for "coping".  This woman knows nothing about me.  "I take good care of myself," I reassure her, seriously.  I just keep thinking, Can I go now?  My head is pounding.  

An hour later I am home, Skyping with Jen, who incidentally fractured her foot falling up the stairs last night.  That's right, falling up the stairs.  Note: she's coming to visit me in one of the world's major cities in about ten days.  This is fine, I tell her not to worry.  We'll be taking the bus and if it's really painful we'll take a cab.  I tell her about the doctor and that I have a migraine and should lie down.  I tell her I don't want to take my migraine meds, because I read about all of the side-effects.  I tell her I don't want to lie down because it will mess up my sleeping pattern even more if I fall asleep.  She shakes me out of my slight hysteria and gets me to take my meds and chill out. 

I watch 3 episodes of Weeds and then a window pops up that says I've reached my limit for the amount of streaming I'm allowed to do on the University of London network.  You've got to be kidding me.  I send a complaint in and resort to watching Juno for the third time since I've been on break.  It has a happy ending and the soundtrack is pretty good, but it's such a Twinkie movie.   You know - a twinkie movie.  Twinkies are solely made of processed sugar and starch.  They're one of the worst things you can put in your body, but you do.  Why?  Because they're tasty.  Wait - are they tasty?  You eat them because they're so bad they're good.  Just like Twinkie movies.  So bad, but so good.  At this point though, I just need something I don't have to think about to enjoy.  

In other news, my dad's away message on Skype says, "Rain, rain go away................................ GO UCONN!"  I don't know, it made me laugh.  He can be so random.  I was having a serious conversation with my mom and Jen on Skype when I got home from Blackheath last night and he was the kitchen.  He yells from the kitchen as my mom and I are mid-serious-conversation to say, "I went to the dentist today!"  Out of nowhere.  I pause.  "What!?" I ask him.  Then we laughed so hard I thought I'd fall out of my chair.

But again - I miss basketball season.  Hell, I miss America, full-stop.  Next week is Master's week...my dad must be like a little kid getting ready for Christmas.  

Saturday

Today is remotely better.  I guess I haven't totally lost faith in humanity.  I'm going out to see Slumdog Millionaire tonight with Kate.  (Don't make fun of me because I haven't seen it yet.  I'm on a Master's course, jerks - my social life is at a bare minimum these days.)  Getting out of this room will help.  It will put me back into this city that I love and remind me how lucky I am to be here.  It will remind me that I've got a limited number of days left in this country before I am stateside.  87 days, in fact.  Start the countdown, I'll be home soon.  (I just started singing "Get Ready" by the Temptations.  You should too.)  

Home from the cinema.  Oh, Odeon Cinemas.  This city has got so much class that even its cinemas have historical references in them.  It's not just some lame Regal cinema reeking of popcorn with twelve theaters all complete with sticky floors and uncomfortable chairs.  This is like (maximum) four stadium style theaters with "premier" seating (the best rows are blocked off).  On the way in they've got these ridiculous plaques on the walls of the celebrities who came to the grand opening of the theater or something.  This theater in Covent Garden was great:

  

They have all of these celebrity hand molds as door handles.  The one for our theater was Ralph Fiennes.  Here's a close-up.  I took the one of Ralph Fiennes for my sister, who really loves Harry Potter, despite the fact that she's a 24 year old Spanish teacher.

I tried to take a bus but Oxford Street and central London were so busy.  I was running late so I had to get a cab.  Those cabbies can be so nice, I swear.  Lots of, "Don't worry love, we'll get you to your movie in no time" type comments in a wonderful Cockney accent.  I love Covent Garden and I should've taken pictures but I was running late.  When I met up with Kate she was reading a book called Skinny Bitch.  She started talking about her friend Carly who's gone vegan for about 5 weeks now and has lost about 15 pounds.  I was shocked by the stuff she was telling me that was in the book about processed food and meat and god knows what else.  Sometimes, I'd rather be ignorant about food.  I have a feeling I'm going to be eating my words later when I get on my next health kick.  It's coming, I can feel it.  Too many days without Bikram and 64 oz of water in my system everyday can lead to deprivation, I think.

    Anyway, we had a nice chat and then saw Slumdog Millionaire.  It wasn't what I was expecting.  Thanks to Adrianne for giving me a heads up that it was actually a romance movie, not a dramatic film.  I mean, it was dramatic, but it was more of an endless search for a girl as the ultimate goal of the film.  Not exactly my cup of tea, but it was good.  The cinematography was excellent and the soundtrack was brilliant.  I think I was most confused by the Bollywood dancing at the end.  All in all, it was worth my student concession rate of £6.  Kate is so funny - she brought plums in for our movie snack.  What did I bring?  Peanut M&Ms.  Mmm...gotta love that blue food coloring.  

 

Conversation with Adrianne:

Me: My book is really coming along.  Why am I studying voice and not making a career out of writing narrative fiction?

Her: Why am I in Germany and not in pastry school?

Me: See?  These are our REAL problems.