If life experience is the hormone pumping up the beefy meat of my writing then I’ve got a helluva long way to go. I may have enough white hairs to respectably pull off the GET-OFF-MY-LAWN rant, but not enough to be a wizened old woman.
I blame it on having had to move every two years while growing up, but the inexplicable BOREDOM washing over me every few years typically results in me shaving off all my hair then running away to some “exotic” destination.
By exotic, I mean any place out of my comfort zone.
The adrenaline bump I get from a dose of New Experience (henceforth to be written with capital N and capital E to signify overwhelming importance) is freaking addictive. The excitement from starting a new project, before my risk-adverse and commitment-phobic brain kicks in, is the only thing that stops me from continually ruining my hairstyle and savings account.
This time, I decide to buy the first thing I see on Groupon. The first thing after botox and traffic school, that is.
I end up enrolling in an eight-week acting course.
What the hell am I thinking? I mean, I’ve never once wanted to be an actress. Stage fright? Check. Bad memory? Check. A larger-than-size-two figure? Check. The camera does not love me, and I have the emotional capacity of a constipated camel.
Still. It’s a New Experience, and I’d rather give it a try than shaving my head. Will blog about it as I transform from reclusive writer to aspiring actress. Come back soon for my next update. Class begins next week.