WARNING: This post contains copious amounts of regret that may be unsuitable for younger audiences.
Be warned, it is also dripping with cloying, self-pitying over-sentimentality.
Hot damn, I’d completely forgotten about this draft and the above warning. I think I’d written it the night of the final performance of Spamalot, this year’s school musical, and then I rediscovered it last night. Which is probably why I had the weirdest Spamalot dream last night. Cheese dreams, eat your heart out, cause SPAM dreams are where it’s at!
Ok, to be honest, it wasn’t that weird. But it sparked up all those feelings of elation, jealousy, and then, finally, regret, that saturated the initial idea behind this post. Ok, where to start? The original idea, or last night’s dream? Hmmmm. So the dream went as follows. For some bizarre reason, someone couldn’t perform the second act – I think the role was King Arthur, but the actor was someone who was playing someone else… oh who cares, it was a dream, and as Inception taught us, dreams make no sense. At all. I DIDN’T GET INCEPTION *sobs* (ok I lie, I think I get it, but Troy, I’ve got your back, buddy). Anyway, back to my dream. Somehow, I was the most suitable fill in for the part (yeah, it’s my dream, so I’m allowed to be awesome like that) and so I was dragged out of the pit onto the stage. So a lot (read: all) of the singing was cut out, which meant I didn’t have to embarrass myself and thus won the adoration of the audience. And then the dream ended. Oh and it was also set in the hall of my primary school.
So that seemingly pointless and not-really-all-that-bizarre recount is actually leading somewhere, I promise. I woke up confused when it was over, but more importantly, I woke up with that same feeling of regret and all of those feels for not having auditioned for the goddamn musical in the first place. See, that’s where the title comes in. While I’ve loved everything I’ve been lucky enough to experience at high school, I’m rapidly approaching the end of the journey with three key regrets: Drama, Debating, and Jazz.
Drama. It looks like so much fun. I wish it were offered as a subject. But, even if that were the case, I know that in First and Second and even Third Form, I wouldn’t have had the balls to put myself out there and try it, enjoy it, fall in love with it. Now, it’s a bit too late. There’s always uni, but… Oh well. I’ll give it a go. (although I have never displayed any inkling of talent. in fact, yeah. STILL. MUSICALS. except then you have to be good at singing…) ha. well, that’s regret number one. At least I can be thankful to have had the opportunity to be a part of two INCREDIBLY MIND-BLOWING productions through a fortuitous dearth of percussionists ha. (and I can’t complain… pit at Wicked was pretty wicked as well).
Debating. Similarly, in the earlier years, I wouldn’t’ve had the guts. But my god do I regret it. It’s a skill, an art. AND how good would it be to be a public speaker! I’d love to actually be able to argue, rather than yell “yeah good”. And my most glorious rebuttal consists of insults to your mother. Yeah. Good. Also, it’d force me to be a bit more up to date with news and current events and all that jazz.
Oh hey. Jazz. That’s the last one. I had the opportunity – but again, ballslessness stopped me from taking it. Or maybe it was just laziness. cbf-ery. I should’ve quit violin earlier…
Anyway, that’s it. Rant over.