MAgic

I'm pretty convinced that my blog posts will become less frequent from now on as I started my MA today and have just found out about the 12000 words I need to write this year and the 20000 I will be writing next year.  Wow.

My opening line of, "Did anyone else sign up to this pissed?", this morning went down a treat with my fellow academic students, as you can well imagine.  I think I forget sometimes that other people might take me more seriously than I intend to be taken.  Oh, who am I kidding?  I don't give a flying fuck actually do I?

It was so good being back as the learner again instead of the teacher.  I was so excited and bouncing around like an irritating over-sized puppy from the word go.  There is something 'special' (and take that in whichever way you want) about a bunch of mature drama students.  It is impossible to introduce yourself without jazz hands and within ten minutes of the course every single person in the room is going to be one of your best friends for life, even the ones you don't like.  As I said, special.

I got a bit over-excited in our first still image and whilst clambering on to a guy's thigh to express my physicality of 'joy' I ended up kicking him in the bollocks.  Oops.  Would've been OK if I hadn't slammed a door in his face an hour later.  I bet his blog post tonight isn't describing me as one of his new bezzies.

One of the third year students that I met today, (and boy were we in awe of them), I had examined for in last year's GCSE practical.  Luckily she was happy with the marks she'd been awarded.  That could've been a nasty, nasty situation if I was the newbie student and she was the old hand and she hated me to the core.  The world of Drama teaching is dangerously small sometimes.

I loved it.  Every single sweaty-footed-poncy-step of the wonderful day.  I got so carried away with 'playing' that I found myself looking at a bloke going over and getting out a notebook and wondering what he was doing.  Then I remembered.  This wasn't a jolly, no matter how sugar-coated it is.  I need to be able to write intelligently about this one day soon.  I'm guessing this blog can't be submitted towards it?   Probably not.

My family survived without me today.  I consciously did not comment on the fact that I was told excitedly that they had eaten gingerbread men AND biscuits AND lollipops through the course of the day.  Similarly, the butter smears on the table mats/crumbs on the carpet/toys all over the house didn't matter.  It killed me to shut the fuck up for once, (although technically I'm voicing the whinge now to a wider audience), but I think my long-suffering-husband deserves a lot of credit tonight for holding the fort and letting me freely indulge my passion.

Zak found it hilarious when I was talking about 'Ken' and he discovered that was Mummy's teacher.  "But Mummy, YOU are the teacher", he patiently explained to me.  It must be difficult for him having a mother that struggles to understand the basic concepts of her life.

A bottle of fizz tonight to celebrate the first day (really, any fucking excuse), then back on it for six hours tomorrow.  The people who are travelling for three hours there and back to get here each day must love the fact that I come from down the road and am still managing to have a half-decent weekend by drinking and rolling out of bed at 9am.  Not that I've mentioned it at all as you can well imagine.  Not much.