In private, I tend to be a bit of a morose and gloomy sort of chap.  At this time of year especially.  I've nearly always reached New Year's Eve with a sort of resigned attitude to the ending of another arbitrary timespan, that's inevitably not done me any favours, and I've mostly allowed myself to creep into the new year amid a haze of solitary self-pity and claret.

This approach, and this view of life, was always nonsense anyway, of course.

This year, I am actually attending a social gathering.  This is good in itself - I'll be seeing the new year in in an entirely fifferent kind of mood.  But I've just caught myself still thinking the same old thoughts about the year that's nearly past.  Feeling sorry for myself. "Wasn't a great year".  "Maybe the new year will be better".  WHAT?  WHAT?

How dare I!  This has been an extraordinary year.  I've left a job that bored and annoyed me; I've been to numerous auditions, several of which have borne fruit - I even had to turn a couple of jobs down because they conflicted with other things; I spent a wonderful, wonderful summer touring the country with brilliant, talented people; I did my first, and very enjoyable, work in front of a camera; I've met some great people and of course there's also all the things I mentioned a few days ago
It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say I'm living my dream.  How dare I indulge in self-pity.

The motto for 2008 only needs a slight change though:  "Maybe the new year will be even better"

It still comes as a surprise though :)

Happy New Year!

I've recently sold my house, thus freeing myself from an immense financial millstone that's been dragging me down for years.  I can buy things.
I have my sister back after twelve years.
In less than a week, I'll be back rehearsing for a great play that I'm really chuffed to have been cast in, with a really talented bunch of people.
I've just had a lovely Christmas with dear friends.
There are other friends who are more than happy to share their lovely company with me on a regular basis.
I even have a bit of a sex life of sorts - hooray!


And yet, I can still write blog entries like last night's.  Ok, maybe "being happy with my lot" isn't something I should necessarily strive for, after all, I'd like to think I'm always going to be looking to grow and improve as a person. but really John...  focus on the positive for goodness' sake.

I'm going to have to stop watching TV programmes and films that produce strong emotion.  And stop reading emotive books.

Next step: Stop interacting with real life and real people.

How else can I stop longing for something that I can never have?

Collected my last bits of stuff from the house on Tuesday.  Expected there to be a lot of junk, but was unprepared for quite how much there was.  And how much of it was simply junk that I'd never bothered to throw away.  Broken television here, assorted rusty screws that my Dad collected there.  My original archery tent.  Bag full of assorted pornographs that I actually thought I had chucked.  The whole coated with black grime and dust, and inhabited by an impressive collection of small crawly things and enormous spiders.  All of it, even the rubbish, is now stored in an extra room at Big Yellow (my existing room being hopelessly too small for the amount of crap I ended up with) awaiting several mammoth sorting and tipping sessions. 
My heartfelt thanks must here be recorded to the lovely Ben, for braving the wildlife and providing much-appreciated help lugging all the detritis.

Still working my way through all the phone calls, cancelling things related to the house.  Amazing how many there are. 

How very strange.  I've sold my house.  Just like that - well, two days ago now.

Remarkably low key, in the end.

From millstone to cashed-in asset, in one easy step.  A step as easy as repeatedly falling off a cliff for three and a half years.

3am, mind buzzing.  4am, ditto.  5am, give in.  Tea, internet.

Had to get up early anyway, I suppose, need to see solicitor at sparrowfart, before going off to rehearsal.

Rehearsal.  That's the thing yes.  Head full of new stuff, new people, new doubts.  The old, old, creeping fear of not being up to the job; the "am I doing enough?", "am I doing too much?", "have I got a clue?"

Ridiculous.  Be yourself, John.  Do what you do.

Tomorrow, and for the whole of next week, I'm going to be doing something I haven't done in many many months:  I'm going to be getting up at a regular time in the morning, to go to work - and at the same place each day.  The idea seems at once both novel and familiar.

I shall be a commuter, mingling with other commuters, but hiding from them a terrible, gleeful secret:  I am not going to an office, nor a shop, nor any one of the myriad of places that folk generally think of as "a proper job".  I found this sort of sensation a considerable buzz during the summer tour, but in some ways, it's even more pronounced this time, because of the simple normality of the travel environment.

It is, I'll admit, a shame that this freedom comes at a price (no money!) but, at least until the bailiffs show up, it'll be worth it (and maybe even then).

Yesterday. How can I describe yesterday?

Not surprisingly, after the news of my being cast, I was in quite a good mood to begin with.  Treated myself to a nice fryup, and made a few minor plans for the day - the buying of pencils, collecting my (hopefully repaired this time) coat from the cleaners, starting work on the script, that sort of thing.
I fired up iTunes.  Bang, "Magic Position", straight off.  That was it, I was away.  "I'm Coming To The Best Part Of My Life".  "Hoppipolla".  I'll swear that iTunes is psychic.
So there I was, leaping and bouncing and laughing and crying, waving my arms around with sheer happiness and relief.  I had no idea I'd got so stressed - great though it is to get the part, it didn't warrant quite such an explosion of joy on its own.  I'd clearly been holding a lot back for a while.

After a while I calmed down a bit.  "Ooh" I thought, "I'd better ring Mum and tell her my news".  She was suitably pleased for me, bless her.
She too, had news.  Lovely news, in the form of a letter from my Sister, which she read to me.  So there we were, Mum and I, both rather tearful on each end of the phone.  Not sure that's ever happened before - we never were a very demonstrative family.

The remainder of the day passed with less excitement, though punctuated by moments when I'd suddenly remember, and burst out laughing or crying.  Dear God, what have I been bottling up to make the release quite so powerful?

I treated myself to a bottle of wine and a nice meal, that I can't in all honesty afford, but hey.  Happily drunk and full, I retired to bed early.  Just getting drowsy, when the phone rang...  and of course, of course, it was my Sister.

What an extraordinary, happy, emotional day.

So here I am.

Counterfeit Skin, a profit-share show in Hoxton in January & February.

Really quite excited, it's a very nice part, in a really good play.  Handily, the rehearsal timings manage to avoid almost all of my existing commitments.

Really very very excited :)