Twelfth Night?

Being busy does suit me very well as long as it requires no real particular effort on my part. Playing guitar for long periods of time may be considered work to some, but it's a pleasure for me - that is, when I don't have to actually do it forcefully. Unfortunately, getting paid to play guitar does just that.

I am being paid quite handsomely to play 4 songs for a production of a play by some relatively unheard of playwright by the name of William Shakespeare. Ordinarily, this wouldn't bother me, but this week is the infamous "Tech Week" and that means that it might border on bothering me after all. I will show up for rehearsals with varying degrees of punctuality and play my heart out every time, or shall I? What with the worst sunburn I've had in years and a guitar strap digging into the very same shoulders that look like they've been left on the grill for too long, I might be disinclined to enjoy this week as much as I'd want to.

Fortunately for me, every single person who is involved with this play (including special mention of the director, Dave Barton) is awesome. They are all a joy to share this torturous week with and, to be honest, most of them have it a lot worse than me. I wouldn't be able to remember lines for shit, let alone know what half the stage directions actually mean. It is an honour to be working with such awe-inspiring people ... I just hope the heat and general discomfort don't dampen the wonderful experience.

I find it amusing that the 12th night I shall be spending in these people's company will indeed be the first performance night. Coincidence? Most probably. Does that make it any less awesome? No.

Good Afternoon,

The Interwebz

P.S. - Do humour this Shakespeare fellow and come see his play, I'm sure he'd be delighted, whoever he is.

"It's June? Fuck!"

"Time flies when you're having fun." That's not true. Time flies when you're busy. Time flies when you have things to occupy your mind with that will distract you from the very passage of time itself.

This stroke of genius may not be the new theory of relativity, but it's something I've been brooding on for about seven hours and forty-two minutes. In April I posted a blog about how I will probably write a lot more because exams are hardly the bestest, but time metaphorically flew - time literally flying would mean that time is actually made of some form of matter; which is silly.

I need to keep myself busy to not be self-destructive; it's part of my charm. The thing is, I'm not really that into the whole "student" thing, so studying properly is pretty much an alien concept to me. Thankfully, I have a very supportive (and by "supportive" I mean "moderately abusive") girlfriend. My whole study regime, if you can even call it that, consisted of cramming as much reading of my girlfriend and her sister's notes in the last 24 hours before the exam as possible. The only notes I had were from my private lessons which were pedantic and unreliable at best.

I've gone off-topic. My original point was the time doesn't just go by quicker when you're having fun or whatever, it only seems to go by faster because our mind is busy. We don't notice that time is indeed passing by at the usual rate. A fucking month just disappeared from me in the most harrowing way. If I were a control freak with mild OCD, I might go into shock at the mere realisation. Luckily, I'm not.

On that bomb-shell,

Good afternoon, the interwebz.

[I actually did quite brilliantly in my exams regardless of my lacking studying capabilities. Yay me.]