narrative internal

I am tired and exhausted and the two are synonyms, I know, but I am nevertheless both with distinction. Rehearsals for "Uncommon Women and Others," by Wendy Wasserstein '71, have drained me physically and emotionally. I have never been pushed so hard, and I am honestly grateful to finally have a director that is kicking my ass. I need this kind of challenge.

Yet when does a challenge become a trial? I feel like what started out as constructive criticism has become a one-way channel of biting remarks. Perhaps these comments are subconsciously harsh. Yet I cannot help but notice that only I am spoken to in this way. Perhaps it is still subconscious. I have no right to assume things.

Why, then, do I feel that my director assumes things of me - specifically, why do I feel that my director assumes that I have all of these shortcomings as an actor? Why hasn't my director taken the time to get to know me not only as an actor, but also as a person?

Why am I the only member of the cast for whom this is true?

I spoke with my director about this last week. Afterward, I thought we had reached a point of understanding - certainly not on a personal level (I do not think she has any interest in establishing any kind of relationship, which both upsets me and, at this point, does not surprise me at all), but at the very least on the level of director and actor. Yet here I am, a week later, and after seven rehearsals that were totally different, and much, much better than anything preceding them, tonight was a near-perfect mirror image of weeks' past.

I do not know what else I can do at this point. I have extended my arms, reached out as a willing student ready to do everything I can to give her what she wants on stage. The ball is now in my director's court. It has sat there ever since our talk, and at this point, I think it is gathering dust.