Life's a bitch, and when life can't be bothered to be bitchy, it either leaves you alone, or it sends in the author's personal hell; writers block. I've been suffering from writers block for the past few weeks, it has been hell, but I got through it, and now I'm ready and raring to go, prepared to write a novel and a half. However, life wants to be bitchy again, in two oh-so-subtle ways:
1. Leave it to Psmith. When I first got my part in Psmith, I was really rather miserable for a while that I didn't have a huge part, but now I'm not quite as resentful, and for one good reason:
2. French exam. It's been looming for a while, and finally the actual dates have been confirmed. Basically, I'm screwed. The exam and preparations clash with the rehearsals for Psmith. Had I been given a bigger part in Psmith, I may by now have suffered a mental breakdown, because the stress is wearing me down already. Determination can only get me so far, far enough that I know that I have to take on each task to the best of my ability, and far enough to set me on my way, but after that, I'm going to need a lot of coffee. Common sense tells me that since the exam comes first chronologically and is, first and foremost, the most important, revision for that must come first. On the other hand, it's scripts-down on Wednesday, or Saturday by the time I get there, and I don't really fancy getting completely bollocked by Kevin AND Chris, which they have threatened to do to anyone who doesn't know their stuff, and since my part is reasonably small, I hardly have an excuse.
In all honesty, I'm considering pulling out of the play. I don't want to, not by a long shot, but if my stress levels carry on at thus height, I might have to. I'd much rather pull out of the French exam, but unfortunately, that really isn't an option. Damn.
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