Closing Time. Still.

Feeling blah. 
Feeling like a mug for choosing a profession that is so woefully under appreciated and misunderstood by society and our Rent-a-Brain government. 
Feeling more alienated than ever from a profession which has spent the past 3 months missing theatre terribly when for me it’s just felt like a business as usual period of unemployment except usually there would be the dangled carrot of possible future employment but now not even that.
Feeling like this could be a brilliant reset moment for the industry but right now I just can’t see it.
Feeling that when theatre does return it will be even harder (if that is even possible) as Benedict and his pals will now take ALL the jobs and the gatekeepers who’ve had a shot of empathy these past few months will just go back to their old habits. 
Feeling angry that LESS THAN 24 HOURS after King BJ the Useless announced the end of lockdown, Jonathan from Universal Credit was on the phone asking what I’m doing to find a job.
Feel angry that at no point did I even contemplate discussing the fact that my industry is virtually derelict as it’s a given that this was not the conversation we were having.
Feel grateful that I’ve had UC and been able to survive.
Feel strongly that I shouldn’t be on UC forever; that I need to find a job.
Feel profoundly unmotivated to look for a job.
Feel angry that at this point in my life I’m reading a “Digital Employability Coach” document sent to me by UC and actually contemplating applying for jobs in Haringey Council.
Feel grateful that my mum is sending useful suggestions of what kind of jobs I could do which might actually bring me some sense of fulfilment and not make me pine for an early grave.
Feel that I want to run away from all her suggestions.
Feel like I want to just lie in bed all day and hide.
Feel guilty that I want to lie in bed all day and hide.
Feel like I should get up and sort my life out.
Feel like I should be allowed at least a 24 hours to mourn a life which I’ve spent 40 years building.
Feel like maybe 6 years would be an appropriate grieving period.
Feel like I should get over it and crack on.
Feel guilty that I’ve come to a public platform to vent but not too guilty to post as it’s the only thing that’s got me into a vertical position today.
Feel confused as to how I was once such an optimist. Wonder where it all went so wrong.
Feel like I want to punch everyone who says it will be fine but does precisely nothing to help fix the problem. 
Feel that’s probably unfair.
Feel I may be deluding myself in thinking that sharing all this may be in anyway useful for anyone, myself included.
Feel I would give anything right now to return to my twenties before it all went wrong and the cracks of cynicism started creeping in.
Feel that the loss of optimism isn’t so much a failing but a sign of many years spent on this planet; that as one gets older, one starts to see the shades of grey more; and that that is a healthy thing. 
Feel like I want to move to Cornwall and start my own theatre company by the sea but who will join me and how would I fund this phantom dream?
Feel the urge to be young and optimistic again.
Feel it’s about time I had some breakfast.
Feel that if I my armpits don’t stop sweating from all this fucking heat I’m gonna have to have Botox.
Feel overwhelmed.
Feel blah.

The photo at the top is of an abandoned theatre in Detroit. Photographer unknown. Image found on Pinterest: http://www.pinterest.co.uk/usmcst4659

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