I should mention the knife play workshop I did this weekend. May and Dee have assured me that it went well. My initial reaction was that it was terrible, but after I managed to calm down and think about that for a little while, I realized I was being dramatic and worrisome. It was a solid presentation. It could have gone better, but it was by no means terrible.
It’s very difficult to recall a presentation once it’s gone from our heads into the ether of collective consciousness. It’s a situation a little like the worst parts of constructive criticism combined: an incredibly tendency toward negative feedback, and absolutely no chance to re-draft. It’s over, it’s done. I’m not satisfied with the outcome, and I have to go off and live with that obsessive perfectionist griping.
I think the makings of a stellar presentation are somewhere in the work I did this weekend, but I didn’t manage to access that this Saturday. I delivered something solid, decent, and raw. Had I been walking into Conversio Virium or a Floating World class, a place I felt comfortable and confident, maybe I could have bridged that gap and really made an excellent show of things.
Unfortunately, I don’t feel comfortable here in the Sydney scene at the moment. For many reasons, most of which are my own: that kink is taking a backseat to my career jumpstarting, that May and I have become increasingly private in our play, that we are focusing on each other almost exclusively. That I still, still, still feel awful and off-balance when I meet new people, that I still feel socially like an actress playing a role that doesn’t fit quite right. That I am lonely. That I miss the community I know and the friends I’m entwined with, and the scene here sometimes makes that worse instead of better. And that I’m having to fight the battles I thought I’d finished long ago, all over again.
I hate going backward in my life. In every other way, this move has been a great leap forward. My career is stronger, my relationship is better, my psyche is thriving. But in social spaces, and especially in scene spaces, I feel like I’ve been knocked back ten steps.
And more frustrating than the feeling of being knocked back is the logical part of my brain that just keeps on asking: Why do I care? Why should I?
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Most people who do any kind of performance (presentation, public speaking ect) think that they did worse than what the audience thought.
As far as why you should care? Hmmm Well, I can tell you that it’s ok to feel like you don’t care but you shouldn’t forget that everyone around you cares about you deeply no matter how you feel about it.
There, that’s me doing Dr Phil.
Gonna go shave my head now.
I have a feeling Australia needs you there to shake things up a little.
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