No, I'm alright. I am. Really.

I'm just kind of nonchalantly sidling back in with this entry, hoping that maybe you'll have forgotten how mental I am and just think I'm nice and funny again. Look, I'll do a funny dance! And tell you a joke! Now you've forgotten, haven't you? Good.

I don't really need to say this, but I just want to tell you something. On Friday I was feeling FUCKING SHIT (what? You noticed? How very perceptive of you) and rubbish and all those things. Lonely and scared and unhappy and like I was ill with pain. I sat down and wrote the first thing that came into my head. It does go without saying that writing is a form of catharsis, and I think that writing in the public domain is a means of removing yourself from that about which you write. It's a means of communicating non-specifically, and that's why I like it so much. I didn't cut my arms last week. I haven't done that in about six months-ish.

Now, I had a point. I definitely had it here, so it can't be far away, it must be around here somewhere.

Oh, yeah, basically I want you not to worry about my pretty little arms, they are in tact. My head is feeling better, as well. Internet people made me feel so much better. Thank you for that, it was amazing. Like, actually, really amazing. It's crazy how much I felt touched and reassured by Internet help.
But then, you know, I'm crazy. So it's not massively surprising.
But also non-Internet people as well. I am so lucky to have such lovely friends. Who called and texted me, telling me they loved me and inviting me to go places, offereing to cancel plans to help me out. And also, you know I mentioned my ex from when I was in Paris? I know he was ill at the time and I don't blame him. He emailed me to tell me how much I meant to him and some other things. I don't blame him, but the whole experienced scarred me in a way that I have not yet worked out how to reverse. My sisters are the best sisters in the world, even if they are both thinner than me (it's ok, I'm better at... er... being taller and having bigger boobs).

I am beginning to sound like a bad Oscar speech so I'll shut up. When I say 'shut up' you know that I don't mean it, though, because it's a physical impossibilty. It's like saying 'yes, in a minute I'll stop telling bad jokes'. No way.

Over the weekend I had two gigs, both of which were good. On Monday I had a vocal consultation at the Guildhall School of Music and Drama, as recommended by my friend. The people said I had taught myself very well (thank you) and my voice was healthy (hurray). They're going to find me a good teacher so I can polish it to perfection. They didn't say polish it to perfection, I added that.
They said I should audition for a post-grad in musical theatre, and asked me why I hadn't auditioned for the West End.
To which I replied "...?" and blushed. I'm so demure sometimes I surprise myself.
THEN they asked me what venue I like singing jazz in, so I replied that I like singing jazz in large venues with good atmosphere, and I like having to work a bit to get poeple's attention.
To which they responded "yes, well, we can see that." Maybe not so demure, then.

I am taking that as a compliment because otherwise I will have to take it to mean that I am a brazen show-off and that's NOT so complimentary.
Or true.

(Does a spin and takes top off)

My point is, I suppose, that I am feeling better but only just. I have a lot on in the next few weeks and I am still a bit overwhelmed by it all.

I am, however, seeing the Funny Side of things. I will see the Funny Side, even of it kills me. Actually, no, not if it kills me, because that wouldn't be funny. Unless I died in a funny way, or dies laughing. Actually I'm not going to go down this route. No suggestions for comedy deaths, please. Really.