Dear reader, I am poor. Literally, poor. Although I was never exactly Rockerfeller even when in gainful employment, I now understand the term ‘starving student’. And it sucks. I still haven’t received payment from my last acting job and am now having to spend my rent money just to get by.

Anyways, we reach the end of another week at the Unidentified Drama School of Dreams and I’ve had the time now to get my head around the curriculum and the individual teachers and to recognise and respect (or not) their differing approaches to work.

Without a shadow of a doubt, class of the moment is movement. I’m lucky enough to have two equally wonderful tutors, both of whom approach the subject differently but with equal intensity. Plus, I get to wear shorts – smiles all round. My other classes are similarly enjoyable – voice is teaching me a lot (well, that’s the party line – either way, it’s fun, although I do need to stop falling asleep in semi-supine), whilst improvisation is helping me make discoveries about myself that I’m very interested in pursuing (more later – suffice it to say I’ve had an emotional couple of days revisiting some old memories – good emotion, though, not slit-my-wrists depression. Yet.)

My least favourite hours of the week, however, are spent engaged in mastering the technique of Meisner. Or, to use my vernacular F***ing Meisner (TM). No disrespect to the man, I’m sure he’s lovely and I get where he’s coming from – the theory is sound. But the execution? Snore. I don’t know how many more times I can reproduce a mundane everyday activity whilst repeating the same phrase over and over again (for those of you who may be unaware, I’m referencing the repetition game) without developing some kind of tic or yeast infection. The premise is that we learn to live ‘in the moment’ and  don’t over think, but I find it hard to get on board with this when the parameters of the exercise are not defined. Then I’m chastised when I don’t fulfil it correctly. Grrr.  Perhaps the age thing is coming into play a little. I’m respectful of everything I’m doing, but perhaps more willing to acknowledge that some things just aren’t working for me and it isn’t my fault, we’re just incompatible. And some of it is rubbish.

Other than in that instance, though, age hasn’t really reared its head, which I’m surprised at, but grateful for. Because everyone’s in the same boat, you sort of forget that you’re quite a bit older than everyone else in your class and it’s more like a level playing field. Of course, you’re better equipped to deal with certain things (the emotional side of exploring the psyche, for instance), but it’s not necessarily even a conscious thing.

Flat-wise, life has settled down somewhat. I’m still returning home every evening to the delightful smells of mild substance abuse, but party-hard wise, it’s kind of flatlined. I actually haven’t been out for nearly two weeks (too poor – see above) and am rediscovering the joys of a £2.99 bottle of wine and sophisticated conversation with the roomies….Hmm.

Peace, love and zimmer frames.

Image by 401(K) 2012.