da DUM da DUM da DUM da DUM da DUM

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If you saw the title of this past and you thought to yourself, "Ooh, iambic pentameter!" or perhaps, more specifically, "Aha, Shakepeare!" - then you very well might begin to understand the hell I am in. Don't get me wrong; I love Shakepeare. Adore, actually. Reading it, deciphering it, acting it, watching good actors perform it. Love. It. Like. Crazy.

But I am in rehearsals currently for Shakespeare's King John (an all-female version, and it's gonna be so good). Yes, it's amazing, blah blah blah, but aside from all that --- it's taking over my brain. I walk around all day trying to make my conversations fit into blank verse. I can't friggin' read a book, article or even email without forcing this poetic rhythm on these bits of poor unsuspecting prose. (And really - is there any prose quite so prosaic as modern speech and communication?)

Even right now, I've tried to go back and examine this post for it's adherence to iams.

O God in heav'n, why must you torture me?

Sweet jesus, it's a sickness ... help me ... must ... hit ... publish

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