Monday, August 15, 2011

Tattooed in a Snowstorm

Stencil! ready to go.

I don't think I'll forget today in a hurry. No, seriously.
Mainly because of my tattoo but partly, partly because of the snowstorm.

Snow! Real snow from my office! Snow! Real snow from my office!

Seriously. It snowed in Wellington. More than I can ever remember.

Snowwww! from Bowen House

But yes. Also the tattoo. I'm in love with it.
Síorghrá is Gaelic for eternal love.

Outline done! Shading: mostly done.

Gill does amazing work.

Blue ribbon!

I can't wait until it's healed. He used turquoise for the keyhole and the script but it doesn't really show up here.
It's beautiful though.

Complete. Swollen and complete.

It was kind of chilly spending most of the afternoon in a sleeveless top.
In a snowstorm.

Sunday, August 14, 2011

365 in 2011

Oh Darling 365

Sunday: heading home from rehearsal
On the way home from a lines run for Oleanna.

Monday: carpark texture
Texture in the Parliament car park.
We only have one car key. If Craig is late I have to entertain myself somehow.

Tuesday: throwing horns & his grandfather's watch
Darling husband driving nonchalantly, throwing horns and wearing his grandfather's gold watch.

Wednesday: violent dawn
An exceptionally violent dawn.

Thursday: exciting!
Craig sent me running to the newspaper - I thought it was something work related.
I was almost relieved to find out it was a terrible photo of me.

Friday: cancelled, crushed
Home when I should have been at the Gryphon. Drunk when I should have been performing.

Saturday: fern from the drain
The garden is rising up. It will reclaim Park Place.


straightening my hair

Cancellation. Disappointment.

I had such grand plans. I was so looking forward to revisiting Carol.
It has been the first role where I was actually proud of myself and my work.
That is hard, truly hard, to admit - caught as I am in the flux between self-hatred and narcissism.

During the performances I was terrified and fighting, I was strong and in control, I came close to tears every single night.
Don't you begin to see? Don't you begin to understand? It's not for you to say

Then, after it was advertised in the newspaper, my seemingly-cursed costar pulled out.
Poor dude missed the first two performances, stuck in Australia, missed rehearsals due to illnesses and dog-attack, and now a family death.

And I? All I can seem to care about is how disappointed I am. Ridiculous. There goes the self-hatred again.