It waits for no man...

...and it is fast running out

It occurred to me, today, that by the end of next month I will have spent seven months living in Madrid; only one month of classes will await me, and one final month of exams and assessment. By July, I will free to roam the earth as I please. Whither shall I go?

You see, the truth is I have not only become accustomed to living here, but have very little waiting for me back at "home". Since I have no plans for summer besides working my arse off to start working out of my mean old overdraft, and preparing for my final year at university, being stuck in a very-likely-judging-by-recent-years rainy London for two and a half months while I do it is looking like a rather grim prospect.

The alternatives are hardly much more enticing. Apart from London, my options are confined to Brighton and Madrid. Now, you might think that is a spoilt answer, and you'd be quite right: not everyone can say they have three cities to choose from to spend the summer. However, as I mentioned before, regardless of where I am, I will still be doing the same thing: working to raise money, and reading for the next academic year. If I go to Brighton, I may have the extra burden of searching for somewhere to live, as well. Not that I intend to stay in my currently overpriced flat if I decide to stay in Madrid. However, finding somewhere to stay for a couple of months would be less difficult than arriving back in the UK and looking for something straight away.

This is, of course, all conjecture (word of the week), and academic, since I've yet to begin actually exploring my options. As this semester begins to draw to a close, though, I have been shocked into thinking about what happens when I return to the UK. After that comes the final year of university: I will have nine months left of full-time education, after which point there will be nowhere left to hide from the real world. The end is nigh: not only of my foreign gallivanting but also of my years as a student. What then?

The plan used to be so simple, in my head, a few years ago. Go to university, go to drama school, get an agent, start working at the Royal Court Theatre, move on to the RSC and the Old Vic, peaking at The National Theatre (not to mention the odd role in gripping BBC dramas and an Oscar-nominated turn in Hollywood), and die happy with a full career behind me, maybe getting my own small obituary in The Guardian. Life, however, got in the way of those plans. As I saw my older friends go through the rigorous and soul-destroying process of applying for, auditioning for and being rejected from drama schools, and after the summer of (hell) 2008, I was left wondering whether I have the skill or the stamina for the actor's life. I've spent pretty much my entire time in Spain talking about how I "used" to act and how much I "miss" it, but not getting involved because I'm terrified of being rubbish; and, of course, the longer I go without, the more I run the risk of actually being rubbish, and the greater my fear, leading to even more procrastination. It's a vicious cycle! By the time I finish university, who's to say I'll have any shred of ability left? In which case, how dare I audition for drama school? And if that is the case, what do I do with my life?!

Maybe I'm letting my fear and paranoia run away with me, or maybe I have a point. In any case, the time to think about it all has come, and think long and hard I shall. Any suggestions are welcome...

PS: I'm not going to become a rent-boy or get a sugar daddy; the hours disagree with me...