So here it is... here is that sweeping feeling of panic and desperation. I was wondering when it would turn up and now here it is... I am leaving for the Fringe today.
So far today I've managed to finish packing, unpack, sort my clothes into 4 piles:
Don't Know Why I Own
Don't Know Why Anyone Would Own
And repack without most of the stuff that I probably need.
Now I'm staring at an overly large suitcase and an enormous pile of newspapers that don't look like they'd fit into any car - let alone the one I'm getting in to go all the way to Scotland. I'm drinking herbal tea in an attempt to rescue my mental state from it's current perch somewhere akin to Kerry Katona. When I was writing a play about a mentalist who obsessively collects newspapers, it certainly didn't occur to me that I'd also have to collect them and then take them on holiday and then show what I had written to a hundred people.
It's not that I'm scared; it's my body that's scared. It sort of sees a suitcase and assumes we're off to Somerset. I'm trying to explain that there won't be an adorable 2 year old there - more like a drunken rabble of harassed comedians and truly irritating street performers.
My body is the one that's wimping out. Last night it tried to kill us so we wouldn't have to go. I had to get up and go and get a drink at about 3am and as I was sipping the water I noticed I couldn't see anything. Which was strange because the lights were on... then I noticed it was because my eyes had stopped walking and we were having to lie on the floor because we weren't upright any more. Now this isn't ideal in any way, we were obviously fine once we'd cooled down on the kitchen floor for half an hour but to be honest I'd just rather my body pulled itself together.
I'm sure Edinburgh will be amazing and there's the outside chance that my parents will spring a surprise visit and come and see all this nonsense I've been faffing about with and then my body will have at least been half right in why we were packing. I'm listening to Eric Clapton's back catalogue in an effort to steady myself for a month of complete nonsense. Eric is renowned for his relaxing tones... I'll hold on to the big guns (Mr Denver) for the drive just in case I start sticking my head out of the window in a blind panic.
The thing is, there's still quite a lot to get done before the show begin... only little things like sorting out the set, lighting, lines etc... but these are all things that I think we perhaps need to think about. If I ever, EVER suggest single handedly directing, producing, writing and performing in a show ever again please just give me a fairly might crack around the head and push me down some stairs. I think it'd be safer for all of us involved.