Psychosis

Don't get me wrong, I enjoy exaggeration as much as the next guy—probably more, actually, but the subsequent tale is by no measure embellished. The contents of the following paragraphs are absolutely true and happened to me.

'How boring could a play with 'psycho' in the title possibly be?' I thought, considering "4.48 Psychosis," the name of this week's assigned show for my Drama in Performance class. "I mean, come on, the word 'psychosis' is rooted from the word 'psycho,' one of the ten most exciting terms in the English language."

Well, as it turns out, boring doesn't begin to describe how FUCKING HORRIBLY, WANT TO PULL MY HAIR OUT, SLIT MY THROAT and BURN MYSELF TO DEATH WITH LIT CIGARETTES, MIND-NUMBINGLY RANCID the "4.48" Psychosis experience was.

Let me count the ways in which "4.48 Psychosis" made me want to stab myself to death over and over again with a dull crayon:

One…

…the theatre provided me with two Everest-certified Sherpas and a three-day supply of oxygen for the mountainous ascension to my seat in the balcony.

Two…

…the American Red Cross fed the world's entire mosquito population, twice, with the collective nose-blood spilled following the sudden rise in elevation.

Three…

…the seats were essentially cheap Frisbees with two arms on each side and a vertebra-crushing back support that sat at an exact right angle.

Four…

…the play was completely IN FRENCH!

4.1…

…I DON'T FUCKING SPEAK FRENCH!

Five…

…the play's only character never varied the volume of her voice.

Six…

…the aforementioned character also never moved, not one single time, for two straight hours.

Seven...

…people were laughing, which means they A) understood French or B) were enjoying themselves.

Eight…

…the select few English subtitles rarely ended in punctuation, a fucking mortal sin in the eyes of an English Major.

8b…

…the unpunctuated subtitles contained phrases such as "I was caught in a web, spun by a doctor."

8c…

…there was actually no period after the word 'doctor' in the previously addressed subtitle.

Nine…

…half of my class left within twenty minutes of the play's commencement, but not I. Because I am a spineless bitch, I stayed in concern of being marked down by the professor.

Ten…

…the standing ovation lasted for eight minutes, although half of the crowd left an hour previous.

Ten and a half…

…THERE WAS A STANDING OVATION!

Eleven…

…come Monday, the students in the class who consider themselves intelligent and deep will pretend they could 'really relate' to the meaning of the production.

Although I could continue listing, I will not. But I do want to express the lone bright spot in an evening of eternal darkness.

From behind me, midway through the production, came a hand. The hand's index finger was pointed straight toward the actress on stage and its thumb was cocked back, ready to fire. The hand stayed this way for a noticeably long time.

Following the performance, I asked the person behind me what he was doing. His reply made my night:

"I kept wondering if I shot this bitch, would she finally vary the volume of her voice?"

END SCENE…