Well that's that then.
Measure for Measure is finished, and I loved every second of it. Yes, there were problems and exhaustion but I got to work with very cool people and louche around stage like a big louche, while wearing a waistcoat and spouting Shakespeare. Whiskey Tango Foxtrot Theatre Company has had its first production, we had full houses five nights out of six, and the cast night was debauch-aplenty. I am pleased.
Also, waistcoats. Fucking waistcoats. I want loads of them, in a variety of styles and colours. More addictive then crack cocaine, those things.
And now I have time to myself! It's a revelation. I am going home to Cavan (where no-one can steal me away with fun things) and working on my submission for the Machine of Death competition, and some other random bits of things that I want to do. I've a plethora of new music (including new Battle Circus album, fuck yeah) to listen to, so hopefully the words will flow freely.
The next big scary thing I have mystifyingly got caught up in is a charity cycle to Electric Picnic. I'm not a particularly fit person, so the next couple of months are going to be consumed with me training. (and hopefully not dying) It's in aid of Temple Street Children's Hospital, and I will be organising events to raise my target of 500e. I'm actually looking forward to the hideous hardship that it will be. Because I'm a fucking eijit.
In between the cycles and the writing, I am going to be a huge nerd and start watching X-Files. I've been told it's... no, that's a lie. I haven't been told the X-Files is anything. It's just... the X-Files. A terribly fucking iconic show. And I will have far too much down time in between banging my head off a keyboard and screaming bloody murder at my weak and failing body, so I may as well investigate terrible 90's TV.
But I am rambling. And I want sleep. I will away.