Another Post About Going Back To School

     Shakespeare in context.  There are theatre majors in this class.  I "SEE" a few english majors that I recognize from other classes, but I can "HEAR" the theatre majors.  They have said the word "CRAFT" a few times.  This may kill me.  I, myself, am a performer who hates other performers.  A wanna'be writer.  A girl enters stage right and screams "Beckah!!!"  then laughs and says to the rest of us, quietly ignoring her, "What an entrance?"  Yet again I am faced with the fact that I am too old for this.  I don't have time to make mistakes anymore, these kids have eight to ten years to get where I am right now.  Which, come to think of it, is only four feet away.  It has taken me a decade to move four feet.  That is a depressing thought.  A snail's pace, a sloth's pace, like Chinese water torture.  A persistent, slow, pointless drop drop drop of water slowing eroding a hole in my brain.  My brain a floating hunk of trash in an ocean of jellyfish.  It doesn't even stir with the constant stinging.  I am starting to sound like Hamlet.  At least my dad is still around.  There is always something rotten in Denmark, or Richmond, or wherever you are...that is even more dramatic than these young theatre majors.  These young beautiful people who are all going to make it on Broadway, or in Hollywood, and really just piss me off.  My professor just made a Mr. Bill reference and I am the only one who laughed.  OHHH NOOOOO!!!!!