... Real.
It was bound to happen. Destined to end.
You know how it goes. You skip through life, blissfully unaware of the horrors of reality until one day this skipping just stops. Your former exuberate highs are now only depressing lows and the thing you once loved, sought out, needed, wanted and worked so fucking hard for is now just a symbol for the abject hatred formally reserved for Ticketmaster and Veganism.
I hate improv.
I hate how fucking hard it is. I hate that the process of trying to get better is sucking the life out of me. I talk too much. I rely on words too much. I push too hard in my scenes. Excuse me?!? YOU'VE JUST FUCKING DESCRIBED ME AS A PERSON! WHAT THE FUCK NOW?!?!
So last night, after yet another soul crushing class I decided to stick around for a little jam session, because I figured it would be valuable to actually observe some fun rather than try to create some fun that actually turned to shit. I stupidly put my name on the jam list and OF COURSE was called up on stage to play around with one my Improv heroes. So imagine. You've just basically had trouble playing, what, I don't know, Smoke on the Water on the guitar and before you know it Jimi Hendrix is calling you up for a jam session. Nice.
My improv hero is awesome. He does nothing, and is awesome. He works it, and is awesome. He's calm and intuitive and completely non-aggressive and so fucking quick and smart. I mean, really, no pressure. We were on a date. On a Zombie Walk. This is what happens in Improv. I have no idea what I was doing. Zombies were dying in front of us. Helicopters were warning us of the imminent Zombie Apocalypse. We managed to agree that, as a couple, Romeo & Juliet had a great little run. This is what happens in Improv. It was, by my own account, terrible. I'm not good with too much extra (at this point I'm not good with much of anything but I know for damn sure I can't handle scenes where there is too much action taking away from the who/what/where/why do we care of the main characters - I get too confused and have a hard time committing). It was too much extra. I felt like such a fail. After it's done of course you think of a million zillion different ways you could have played it, which is the worst thing you can do. As a great teach once yelled to one of my classmates "STOP TELLING ME WHAT YOU WERE GOING TO DO AND JUST FUCKING DO IT", as you can see, there are no do-overs in Improv.
So, what now? I have real questions: Am I thinking too hard? Am I stressing too much? Am I weighing myself down? Am I scared? What the fuck am I doing? With no real answers: Maybe. I guess so. Um Yeah? Huh? I don't know.
I've lost all sense of instinctual confidence. I've lost ALL confidence. What the fuck now? Am I supposed to quit before I get kicked out? Is it time to stop deluding myself? Am I to live my Improv life hugging the back wall? Is it back to cooking classes? Fuck, I don't know.
Shit just got real, yo.
R is for Real.
