Unwinding for me is never as simple as sinking onto a sofa and popping open a bottle of something alcoholic. No…alcohol ceased to have any effect on me after the disastrous events of the Wicked, Bro after-party, a retelling of the classic fantasy tale of two fraternity friends who learn magic and try to prove to each other that they’re the coolest and can get the most ‘chicks’. It ends after one pretends to run the other over with his car, after which he goes into hiding in another fraternity, but…it’s not important. Alcohol has ceased to work for me. I need something deeper.
At this stage I have two options: zen meditation and oxygen therapy. Melbourne is somewhat lacking in the appropriate professionals teaching the former, which means that I’ve had to travel all the way to the mountains to learn the true methods. Meanwhile, I’ve found some comfort in oxygen therapy, which is becoming more popular…or so I hope. When your imagination is as vivid as mine, and your thoughts as loud and frenetic, then sometimes all you can do is immerse yourself in an oxygen chamber, shut out the noise, drink in the rich atmosphere and resume your normal breathing. I’m seriously considering just purchasing my own and having it near me whenever I’m on the job, because sometimes performers can be frustrating people to work with. That’s a very kind and charitable way of putting it that doesn’t quite cut to the heart of my actual rage, but it’ll do for here. I become short of breath because my vision is not being played out, they refuse to work in the way that I wish…and sometimes, I feel the situation could easily be defused if I could just sneak away to a portable hyperbaric chambers. Melbourne should have them on every street corner! I feel that we would all get along so very much better. For now, I have to divide oxygen therapy with meditation…the greatest meditation method of all.