November

I know what's missing in my life. I need to create. I need NaNo. November is going to be hell. The greatest hell ever. I will be so utterly exhausted, but it will be the exhaustion I enjoy so much: that specific kind of exhaustion that comes from spending every moment doing what you love.

I'm not doing what I love right now. I'm writing papers under impossible time constraints, limiting my freedom to truly create the profound essay I'd like; frantically trying to learn how to teach a theatre class to students who have no interest in theatre without losing the few who really do want to learn; cramming language and vocabulary into my head without building the natural, "native speaker" connections that'll make them stick under real-life pressure; and wishing desperately for Monday when I'll get to run another rehearsal. That's all I want. That's all I love.

It's scary, you know, realising that the one thing that's making everything else worth it is just a bunch of high school students who probably don't really care about you much. Not that they don't care, but they're not concerned with me the way I am them. They're not near giddy when they see me like I am them. It's insane. My whole existence right now is attached to them and this play. I need it; I need them!

November is going to be wonderful. In only a few weeks, we're going to cram in the blocking and choreography for the entire play. And while we're mercilessly cramming, I'll be a full time college student who is also writing a novel in a month. It will be amazing. I'll never have a moment to even stop and think, "Man, I am so tired!" I'll be too busy and too exhausted from creating so much.

I wish it were November.