Bay Area bred, UC Irvine educated, and currently UK situated.
I'm a theatre student. These are my ramblings. Enjoy my ramblings. I like all mediums of art and good laughs. I do not like cooked carrots.
This has been bothering me for quite a while. Well, depends on how much time accounts for “quite a while.” A couple weeks maybe…or a few months. On and off. When I space out during class or when I’m trying to fall asleep or when I get off track from making the week’s grocery list. That’s when I think about it. Or him. Or it? I don’t know, but basically and essentially, it’s about a boy. I know, groannnn. I’m not some type of girl to get hung up on a boy.
THAT’S A LIE. Every girl gets hung up on a boy no matter how fiercely independent and forward-thinking she makes herself out to be or actually is. I guess what I meant to say is that I’m really good at making it seem like I’m not the type of girl who gets hung up on a boy. We’ll call the boy, “Bucket” (why? It’s easy, uncomplicated, and oddly cute - like him…sigh/vomit). I talk about Bucket so friggin much it even annoys ME. 1) I’m an awfully annoying person 2) though I’m awfully annoying, I have an incredible tolerance for my own self-annoyance. It’s a gift, I know. My best friends know all about him. My sister. My roommate back in Southern California. My flatmates here in England. The obnoxious housekeeper for my block of flats is probably clued in too because that’s how much I talk about him/obsess over him/overanalyze any type of conversation he gives me. It’s stupid. It’s pathetic. It’s desperate. It’s exhausting. So that’s why I think I must secretly be a masochist. I’m totally aware of my situation and that only I can stop it, because Bucket has ignored me for more than a month already and I STILL CAN’T GET THE FUCK OVER IT.
I’m covered in a million bug bites because I’m pretty sure my Dublin hostel was infested with demon crawlers. And I’m packing 6 months back into my carry on. And finally, I miss him and I want to know how he is and if he got my postcard but I can’t. Because I suck. And I’m probably secretly a masochist. The end.
The dilemma: I’m in England on exchange. So I’m like a borrowed library book that cannot be renewed (well…technically I can be renewed, but I wouldn’t be able to graduate on time and whatever whatever university requirements and all that bullshit). Moving on from my crap ass comparison, I return to the USA in less than 2 months and start my senior (and hopefully final - unless I chicken out) year at UC Irvine in a little more than 4 months. I still haven’t even gotten to the dilemma, have I? My exposition kills. The fall 2013 schedule of classes have been released, and I find out when I’m due to register on May 13th. Now here’s the source of my clammy palms and wicked anxious mind - I WANT TO TAKE ALL THE FRIGGIN CLASSES IN THE WORLD.
I’m a nerd who has a limit on learning. Isn’t that heartbreaking?
It sucks. I have to settle with academics. I want to sing. I want to take movement class. I want to learn basic essentially remedial ballet. I want to obtain a minor in English. I want to take Vietnamese so I can make my Mom & Dad proud (and not embarrass myself with my awful grammar and accent). I still have to make time for my job, which requires me to come in daily. And most important of all - I want to direct.
And that was what I had to do. I had to weigh my options. There was a lot of red pen striking through previously jot down possibilities in my notebook. There was some repeated thudding of my head on my desk, upon my fridge, and against my palm. I nearly cried.
But I had to decide. What does Dalena want to be? The triple-threat starlet? (A-HA DREAM BIG) The Vietnamese-language master? The clever and well-read writer? Or the original goal: the director. I guess the senior mindset is already settling upon me: I have to prioritize and really decide what is most important at this moment of time in my career and life.
You really can’t have it all.