Confessions of a Struggling Actor

I had proper flu for the first time this week and now know the difference between that and the cold I've had.

After Monday's dinner with Charlotte, I was still under the impression that I had a cold.  At work on Tuesday I started feeling a bit crappy and just assumed that it was still hanging around so hit the Lemsip.  I felt curiously ropey that night after the performance, but then considered that I'd quit smoking, so my lungs and ventricles would be adjusting to breathing more fresh air.  This also became apparent after using the tube and noticing the unpleasant odours - my sense of smell was improving!  I felt like some sort of superhero but felt worse and worse and had an awful nights sleep.  I woke the next day barely able to lift my head off my pillow, unable to concentrate on anything for longer than a second and with sore skin.  If it was in contact with anything else apart from air, it was like a thousand shocks pulsating to my pain receptors.  I texted in sick - aware that I had to be fit for both the show and a major marketing day that we had on Thursday.  I spent the day in bed, only getting up to ingest more lemsip and visit the bathroom.  After an hour of sweating out the germs, I managed to make it into the theatre, where people said that I resembled some deathly spirit.  I joked that it would suit our Terror evening, but I only just got through without my legs going from beneath me.  I managed to get home and straight to bed as I had to be up at 4am.

As it was, my sleep pattern was completely fucked, only ever getting 45 minutes at the most, so got up around 3.30 and got myself organised for the car that was picking me up at 4.45 to do radio interviews alongside Craig, our main man.  I felt pretty awful as I arrived in the dark and cold at the studio, but managed to put a brave face on it and soldier on once again with the aid of Lemsip - I should have bought shares with the amount I'd consumed over the past couple of weeks.  Around ten, just after I'd been too clever for Radio Clyde when they tried to catch me unawares, I was given a bacon butty and I tried another lemsip and it was back in the booth.  I started to go downhill quickly - I noticed, my words were starting to slur and I wasn't as quick on the uptake as before.  Just before the next break I said to Craig that I might have a bit of time off, but when the others saw me they said that I should head home and called me a cab.

Once home I collapsed into bed again.  I passed out for around an hour and when I awoke I couldn't open my eyes, move apart from to roll over to get out of bed.  Repeated efforts to try to get up for a glass of water were fruitless and I resorted to crawling to the bathroom on my hands and knees.  I hadn't eaten anything since Tuesday night, when I had a spicy pizza, thinking that it might help the sweats come on.  I was weak, dehydrated to hell and could barely talk.  I fell into a dream like state where it seemed hallucinations mixed with some strange nightmare I was having about my plight lying there in bed.  But I couldn't focus on anything, not even on my breathing and it felt as though my throat was closing up. If I could have summoned tears I would have as I texted Jason to say that I was not well enough to perform in the show.  I've never missed any performance and have even had a barf bucket on the side of the stage sometimes, but there was no way I'd be able to do a thing.  Denis came back and knocked on my door.  He immediately went up in my estimation by going to the shops for lucozade, bottled water and painkillers.  I downed around 1.5l of lucozade and 5 litres of water that night - nearly all of which I then sweated out onto my sheets, necessitating two changes of bedding.  I felt better after that, though my throat was still a mess and my appetite was on holiday.  I gingerly got out of bed for about half an hour to thank Denis and try to watch a little TV.  I didn't last long and as I filled my hot water bottle, I thought about how I'd let myself get so run down over the past few months.  I'd been under the weather since I did my ankle in (which is functioning again now, natch) and had a cold during R&J, but had carried on regardless.  I resolved to get myself fully fit once well, forget drinking (depending on the company and occasion), change my diet and quit the job in the New Year.  I didn't sleep much more than I did the previous night, but did rest easier.

Next morning I was up at the regular time to record a voice over for work.  As ever, I exceeded expectations by being in and out in 30 mins and only 3 takes.  Pats on the back and then I decided to go into work and see how long I lasted.  As I walked up the stairs, I thought that I should just head home and put this lurgy to bed once and for all, but the stubborn part of me wanted to make a little show of how dedicated I was to the cause.  I was still ash grey and many people showed concern, while I waved them off with 'I missed my show last night, so I could get the VO done and as I’m fit enough for that I should be able to get some work done here too.'  That'll show them!  I quietly sweated and did what I could concentrate on and managed to be angry about a couple of things that had been mucked up while I was off.  By 4 I said that I needed to go home as I was starting to feel horrible again and left.  I got lots more support from my fellow actors when I arrived at the theatre that night, along with some good natured ribbing.  The show went really well - certainly our best so far - and I celebrated by going home and downing a bottle of Volvic and telling Denis that he had to pull his weight and stop boozing and keep the flat clean and tidy.  Maybe it was the drugs, maybe the lack of food, perhaps just pure relief that I wasn't as sick anymore, but I then had a restful night's sleep.

Saturday was slow - through choice.  I was awake early, but stayed in bed topping up my fluids until football focus, after which I did some sweeping of the non-football kind and some other low impact cleaning tasks.  I watched Inside Man (very good) and then received a text explaining that we were opening the show as the first play had been cancelled.  When I arrived at the theatre, it transpired that one of the actors had scratched his eyeball and had to go to A&E.  Is this season cursed?  There was a slight off-kilter feel to the show, added to by an unvocal, though appreciative audience.  Geir was supposed to be there, but didn't come ('I got there and realised I had no money' - for fucks sake...he's been little /no help since he decided to move out and has turned into a bit of a pain in the flat) but Rob and Mandy from work (with gossip that no-one else knew...no black tie party, in fact no xmas party of any kind next year!) came along and were lovely and Shirley and friends were in and suitably disturbed by it all.  I also found out we had a decent notice in the Stage, so a good night was felt by all.  Especially as I went home and had the second good sleep in succession.

Sunday, I lunched with Shirley and her pals, which was pleasant as well as interesting when hearing about things in Aberdeen drama circles.  The professionals aren't as bitchy as THAT!!!  I then met Charlotte and escorted her to Laura main play.  Quite superb.  I wasn't sure what I was expecting, though high melodrama was the bookies favourite.  It turned out to be hugely effecting, with a couple of stunning performances from Laura and the guy playing the schoolboy that she's trying to protect.  Truly wonderful and I don't think I've seen Laura so good onstage.  Charlotte was very impressed and Laura and Mitchell, a director pal of hers, joined us for a drink afterwards.  Interesting chat, though it got quite intellectual at points and I kind of shrunk into my shell a little - esp. with the distraction of a big screen showing the football right next to me, which allowed me to sink to my natural level.  I chatted all the way back on the tube with Charlotte and parted with a gallery date to be confirmed for next weekend.  I'm not sure where this relationship is going.  We enjoy each other's company immensely, but I've been on the edge of illness both times I've met her, so maybe she's biding her time or maybe she's just not interested in me in that way.  To be honest I don't care - she's a topper and I'd spend more time with her even if there's no chance of anything developing further.

Last night was mainly mopping the floors - I was a little pissed off that D&G hadn't done a bit more, but D had at least done some token stuff.  My room was a mess - as you can imagine with the sweat sodden t-shirts, jumpers etc that I was wearing to get the flu out, as well as the snotty tissues, empty bottles and general crap around my bed.  I reverted to 12 years old and shoved it all in a drawer so I didn't have to think about it the next morning - that was when I'd have to clean the surfaces in the kitchen and living room.  I took my various tablets to aid my recovery and then was presented with a cheeky carrot which chilled me out and got me to think about what was going on in my life.  I ended up falling asleep a little later than I planned, but put some plans into place by making my first to-do list for months.  This morning I whisked through my chores, was completely disinterested in work and so wrote this.  Tonight I am back in the theatre to watch another friend's play, but intend to head back quickly afterwards as I've left denis to meet our first prospective flatmate.  Slightly scared I must say.

Tomorrow - I meet the King of Pop.  And that's no word of a lie.