For about two or three years, I’ve had periods of “blankness” where I feel a complete lack of motivation or energy, and when I try to visualise my brain at work, just to check I’m still rational and connected, it’s almost as if my head is filled with television snow. It’s at the stage now where I am in this blank state more often then not, punctuated with moments of happiness or excitement, before I fall back into my apathy. I should be planning my two essays for the last week of term, but I can’t bring myself to look again at the books or articles I need. I need, NEED to throw icy water over my hibernating brain and work for two firsts.

I was cursed with a practical family and a practical upbringing: life is working, earning money to pay for practical things such as children and food, occasionally holidaying somewhere for a few days a year, and outrunning depression, alcoholism, heart disease or total insanity in order to get to the grave riding on old age. Getting “beyond yourself” isn’t possible, apparently, and trying to get that far isn’t admirable, unless it’ll make you a millionaire. Consequently drama, music and anything that won’t result in a safe amount in the bank was and is discouraged. It’s fine to go to the theatre, but not to strive to be on stage. It’s perfectly all right to listen to music, just as long as you turn it down and work at the same time. When I see this I cheer up a little bit: after my practical degree, I could go and audition there. But then something reminds me that acting is a fine line to try and tread, and I resolve myself to ending up in a school surrounded by children who do not understand the difference between “their”, “they’re” and “there”.

In a Disney film this lament would trigger a set of events that would make me a queen.