The Fraught Foreigner

Twas I today, an actual distraught, overwrought, fraught foreigner (me) playing an actual farouche, sheepish, self-conscious foreigner (Charlie)!

Today twas I a tongue-tied, dumb-founded, inarticulate actor (who can't even can't correctly) attempting to salvage an insufferable performance.

Now, I'm perched on my office pew disgorging ... Is it helping? The sharing? Too soon to divulge.

Ironic, I displace myself an ocean away from a former life whence I was a terminal techie (for a telecom giant) to embrace an unascertainable (or is that unattainable) fate in search of prominence and happenstance. There I was a foreigner: an American, born in the US, raised a gypsy throughout Europe. Garnering an American Southern accent while I was home schooled in Turkey; a British accent following during my two years of schooling north of London; a standard American accent ensuring throughout High School and College; and most recently a hodgepodge accent of affected Dutch, German, British and American. Funny now that on stage I find it arduous attempting a consistent RP British accent.

Even more incredulous is my line-senility - more so to me, but my fellow actors are not far behind. Is it actually age? Inability? Line-exia? One thing it is not is excusable.

No matter where I lay my hat: with the cast, this oceanside, that oceanside I still feel much like the man above - alone, benched an eternal fraught foreigner ... who's mastered a thesaurus!