Every Day, a Little Gratitude

I am working. Not only that, but I am working at one of the top theatres in the country, making LORT B (second only to LORT A when it comes to regional theatre) pay, and playing two leading roles. It’s a three month contract which means I will get another six months of health insurance. I am housed. I have a car I share with two other actors. This is the DREAM.

Which means I want to remember this feeling when I go back to NYC. I’m already dreading it… that discomfort of not working, that pain of not auditioning, that hurt of wanting so hard you think you might break.

But right now?

This.

Every day is grapefruit day.

Today I close another show. This is how this career is… you’re deep in it, totally invested, your whole day leads up to those few hours at the theatre…

And then suddenly it’s over, and you’re unemployed, and you may never seen your castmates, who have become your family, again, or at least for a long while.

It’s a somber moment, and I’m feeling a bit somber today.

Last night, I went up on an entire speech– I froze onstage and literally couldn’t form words; didn’t know where I was– and it really shook me. It was fine, but awful. I forgive myself, because it wasn’t my fault– I know the speech front and back, I was focused and paying attention– I just short-circuited.

That, compounded with the closing of the show, is making today tough. The rain doesn’t help (thanks NYC).

This was so wonderful.

  • We were a New York Times Critics Pick.
  • We got amazing reviews (my work was mentioned)
  • My parents got to see it
  • I got to do Shakespeare!
  • I made some amazing friends and met some remarkable people
  • I got to work off-Broadway, which is a gift in and of itself.

But more is to come, I know. Including a weeklong vacation in July.

And really, you can’t top what we did at the end of our performance on Friday, June 26. The day was already so joyous. Then we did this, and it was the best curtain call ever:

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All she has to do is exist.

“‘You have the luxury of time. You’re young. Young people are doing something even when they’re doing nothing. A young woman is conduit. All she has to do is exist.’ You have time. Meaning don’t use it, but pass through time in patience, waiting for something to come. Prepare for its arrival. Don’t rush to meet it. Be a conduit. I believed him. I felt this to be true. Some people might consider that passivity but I did not. I considered it living.”
The Flamethrowers, by Rachel Kushner

One of the strangest things about day-to-day life is how mundane it seems. I get up. I go to the gym. I go to work. I go home. I make soup. I watch bad TV. I try and get auditions. I go to bed. Ostensibly, “nothing” is going on in my life.

I never really listen to music, except when I’m doing something else, like playing a game on my iPad or cooking, and it’s even more rare that I listen to music while walking down the street. But the other night, I did. I was on the train, and an Iron & Wine song came on shuffle. Now, there are LOTS of songs that bring up memories for me. But all of a sudden, this song jerked me into taking a step back and actually looking at what this “nothing” really is. And I’m shocked to discover that these days– morning to night– that feel so devoid, so par for the course, are the building blocks for an amazing life.

Sometimes I feel that way in New York. This place is idealized by so many people (I, for one, never really did– I guess I just always assumed I’d be here, and didn’t fantasize about it at all), and this is where my “nothing” life takes place. The capital of the WORLD. I have to stop myself, often, and marvel at this city. I literally stop in the street sometimes, and look up at the skyscrapers, like a nerd, and think to myself, “I am living a life that others dream of. No matter what else I’m doing, being here is a success.” Because it is. Because New York is fucking hard.

Also, because I am someone who comes from a state with two professional theatres (yes, I said “state” and “two”), I can’t forget my artistic life here. I don’t know how many Broadway and off-Broadway shows I’ve seen for free. This year alone, examples include but are not limited to: Hands on a Hardbody, Romeo and Juliet, The Nance, The Testament of Mary, Little Miss Sunshine, Golden Boy, Picnic… I have seen Julie Andrews in a bathroom, given Liam Neeson back the hat he forgot in a theatre (he was so sweet about it), and seen Patti LuPone, Phylicia Rashad, James Earle Jones, Dianne Wiest, Ellen Burstyn, Carey Mulligan, Peter Sarsgaard, Maggie Gyllenhaal, Christopher Lloyd, Fiona Shaw, Daniel Radcliffe, Richard Griffiths, Zosia Mamet, and ENDLESS MORE live onstage, often from a few rows back. How cool is that? And I’ve met some of them too. I did a reading with Anthony Rapp. I did a reading directed by Shirley Knight. Stephen Sondheim saw me act. (sorry, Braggy McGhee just got excited).

L received news that she will receive her last chemo treatment on December 17. That’s literally two years and ten days after her initial diagnosis. She texted me and asked me to be there. I will. And I’m can’t believe it. Walking with L down this path has been so strange and awful and important and… it’s hard to talk about. When I talk about it too much, I feel like I’m being a “poor me” jerk who thinks she was more important than she actually was. But I have to be honest– I was there for a LOT of it. Probably more than anyone else besides her parents. That’s not nothing. And cancer, like all diseases, is powerful. It is a nuclear bomb, and anyone who is nearby when it explodes is infected with radiation. And those of us who bear it, and live with it, uncomfortable though it is, emerge with superpowers. Like Spiderman. (someone shut me up)

Then “Now We Can See” by the Thermals came on as I was trudging up the subway stairs. The last song in the first show “my” company ever produced. 2010. We were very young, kinda dumb, but with enthusiasm and self-confidence, poured to overflowing into this strange group of young people. What a strange, wonderful first New York theatrical experience. We won awards and got raves, yes, which was amazing and thrilling and great, but even more special was the feeling that washed over all of us as we sang this song, stomping, clutching the mikes, shaking our styled hair, in one of the most historic theatres in New York. What was that feeling? A strange mix of confidence, hope, and more than anything, joy. We overflowed. Regardless of what would happen next, those moments in the Ellen Stewart Theatre were unforgettable.

I spent four years with my therapist, and now I’m phasing out. I think I have two more sessions. WHO KNEW I’d ever get to this point? I sure didn’t. I frankly didn’t know what I thought, but in the last four years, I’ve felt so far from “stable” that leaving wasn’t even a thought. But here I am. Moving forward, out of therapy, because I have done so much goddamn work. And that’s the most amazing thing– not, “oh my god, weirdo me is leaving therapy! Crazy!” but “Look at all this SHIT I had to fight through, tooth and nail, to get to this point. Look at how hard I worked. Look at all the time I spent fighting for the life I have now. I battled an eating disorder, crushing anxiety, self-hatred, depression, mania, self-injury in every way you can imagine, and I’ve come out the other side. And I have confidence that I can care for myself, for the first time in a long time. Isn’t THAT crazy?”

My life is nothing special to me, as I walk through it. And yet, I realize that I have walked through incredible forests, forded wild rivers. I am lucky to have it, and I am grateful. Overwhelmingly.

 

It was such a good idea…

But life intervened. Per usual.

As you can see, I’m not posting really, like at all. Even those cute daily worksheets. Why, you ask? Is everything okay?

So, the answers to all your burning questions:

1. I am okay. I’m on the better side of okay, actually– I’ve lately been very successful with looking at the daily work and each little step with great confidence, rather than looking at everything from a wide lens and freaking out about how behind I am. This is keeping me pretty happy– like a step above “happy enough to function.”

2. Eating is good. I think about it, sure, but I don’t binge. This is miraculous to the me of 2 years ago, when I couldn’t imagine this kind of freedom.

3. A is struggling. His agent (very kindly, but still) dropped him a couple of weeks ago, and general malaise about not working and worrying about money has cast a shadow over him this month. Still, we have managed to find many moments of levity, including a beautiful day at the Brooklyn Book Festival.

4. I will likely be writing less here because I’m working on putting together something exciting and new and totally terrifying with a colleague. Not a solo piece per se… But something we create with me as the axis, as it were. I’m interested in exploring fantastical short stories in theatrical form (Oh hi, it’s me, Pretentious Polly). Karen Russell, Aimee Bender, George Saunders, etc.

5. I’m taking “workshops.” I hate this shit. But if I want to get into these casting offices, I have to go. And I have to nail it EVERY TIME. I’ve got an important one (prob my most important casting office) on Monday.

6. I got asked to do a private reading for the director of American Stare. At his house, which is stressful. With a German accent, which is SUPER stressful. Anything else– British, Irish, Southern, French– but German is really hard for me. I’m working on it!

7. The biggest news is that I’m leaving therapy. Yeah, bomb drop! I’m in such a good place with such a good support system and I’ve really internalized my therapist’s voice… That I really am ready. We both agreed, but I was the one who really said it in as many words. I’m sad, because she is a PART of me, and I love her in a way I’ve never loved anyone, but I’m proud.

8. Cat’s good, mom’s good, money is tight, and I still cry when I walk into a theatre. But I feel like I can see my feet on the earth, pushing off, making prints. I am moving, I am making an impact, and the air is clear.

I am here. I read your blogs. I send you love. And feeling still and strong in this whirlwind makes me certain without a doubt that “okay-ness” is possible and coming for all of us in this tiny blog circle.

Till next time, loves.

xoxo
B

Vacation? What’s that?

VACATION!

What’s that, you may ask? "Vacation" is the English word for a time in which you leave work at work and spend leisure time with people you love in some place that isn’t your janky New York apartment.

Trust me, I wasn’t super familiar with the term either.

Here is what A and I did for our glorious few days "off the grid."

WEDNESDAY

Closing of my Fringe show (thank goodness!) The show was at 5:15pm. A had just come home from Army on Tuesday, so we did some crazy last minute planning and packing, and picked up our rental car around 2:30pm on the Upper East Side and headed downtown to the Lower East Side for my show. It was a strong finale to an okay production, but I was glad A got to see it and, you know, acting is always fun. We immediately took off from the parking garage on Essex for our little home in Fairfield, CT!

When we arrived, my lovely host’s son had left the key under the doormat. A scraggly, long-haired black cat mewed ferociously at the door, but we hadn’t heard anything about a cat, and it looked like a stray, so we had to use some leftover nacho cheese from dinner to try and lure it away from the door. Turns out, the cat sort of belongs there, but there was no way we could have been expected to know it, and as kitty lovers, it was a somewhat disturbing experience. We stumbled right into bed after doing a bit of exploring.

(the story of this house is that I’d posted on Facebook a few months ago that I was looking for an inexpensive place to vacation in CT on the coast. An aquaintance who I met last summer on the show in NJ, a teacher at Yale and a NYC script supervisor, messaged me that we were welcome to stay in her home. It was INSANELY generous).

THURSDAY

We woke early and A found somewhere we could grab breakfast. He found the most adorable little place called Home on the Range. We were the only people in there when we walked in, and glanced over the paper menu a friendly, white-haired, bespectacled woman hadned to us. I ordered an egg sandwich on whole wheat and coffee, and A got multigrain pancakes with turkey bacon and OJ. We sat in the corner in the window, and shortly were delivered clearly homemade, fresh, and prepared to order by the adorable woman who took our order. The food was exceptional– A’s pancakes melted in your mouth, and my sandwich was perfectly cooked. We came back again on Saturday.

From there, we took the short drive to the beach. We didn’t have a pass for our car to park (all beaches are private in CT) but we figured that we could find some nearby nook for the car. After trolling two beaches, we found a parking spot in front of a little shop, only about a five minute walk from Penfield Beach. We parked and headed to the water. It wasn’t particularly warm, and the sky was very threatening– rain was coming. Regardless, we stripped down to our suits and jumped in. The water was not particularly cold, probably only about ten degrees cooler than the air. We got out as the tide started in and the clouds began their approach. I made a little sandcastle, and just as the rain started, we boogied back to the car.

We rounded out our first day by seeing The Butler (perfect rain activity!) and then driving out to New Haven to have delicious pizza and wine at Pepe’s and wandering around the Yale campus before heading home. We talked a lot about just about everything, especially the favorite slightly wine-y (ha! and whiney! See what I did there?) topic of our careers. They’re just not off the ground yet. And, as Yale tends to do, I was wistful about the life I could have had if I hadn’t known beyond the shadow of a doubt that I wanted to be an actor and move to NYC. We make our choices, people. And I’m glad for mine.

FRIDAY

Another bright and early morning. We hopped in the car and headed up to the Haddam area to see Gillette Castle. It’s a strange old mansion built by turn-of-the-century actor William Gillette that has been turned into a state park and museum. There are over 45 engineered wooden doors in the castle, all of which Gillette designed. He also had a series of mirrors and secret passageways so he could make theatrical entrances and exits and avoid guests he didn’t want to see. I like that part of it. We spent the morning in the castle, then lunched on bread, cheese, apples, and trail mix while deciding what to do next.

We hopped in the car and headed towards West Hartford. On the way, we passed East Haddam, and figured we should stop over and see the Goodspeed Opera House, just ’cause we’d never been. We pulled up and walked to the box office. Turns out, there was an 8pm performance of Hello, Dolly! that very night, and there were two $29 seats available in the 2nd row mezz. We looked at each other, and the decision was made. We bought the tickets and, grinning, headed back to our car.

After a detour to Panera for iced tea, a cookie, and an outlet to charge my dying phone, we arrived at the Mark Twain House and the Harriet Beecher Stowe House (they’re next door to each other!). We bought our tickets for the double tour– Stowe and then Twain– and wandered in the gift shop till our meeting time at 3pm. The tours were AMAZING. A and I are big nerds (and literature lovers!), and we love to learn peoples’ stories and see what they saw. It is no small thing to stand in the room where Twain wrote Tom Sawyer, Huckleberry Finn, The Prince and the Pauper, and more. Very cool.

Afterwards, we navigated to dinner at a Mexican place nearby. We were going to meet up with my dear friend J, who is in rehearsal at Hartford Stage, but he had a company picnic he couldn’t miss. It was okay– we were in a time crunch anyway. We drove back to East Haddam with just enough time to get huge ice cream sundaes, which we devoured on a bench outside the theatre while we watched the "blue hairs" (what we, in the theatre, call "older" audience members) file in. We eventually took our seats to experience a classic American musical– just as cheesy and silly and delicious as expected. It was a glorious evening.

SATURDAY

We took it very easy, sleeping in a little long, suiting up, and heading back to breakfast at Home on the Range. From there, we pulled back into our little parking spot and walked to the beach, two chairs, an umbrella for my sweet white boy, towels, and another lunch of bread, cheese, bell pepper slices, veggie chips, and fizzy lemonade from Whole Foods.

We spent the whole day baking our bods, swimming in the sea, munching on snacks, reading, and collecting shells. It was exactly what vacation is supposed to be.

Once we’d had our fill of the beach, we hopped back into the car and headed to the house. We showered and hung out for a bit, and then headed out once more for a 4:10pm showing of Elysium. It was a bit disappointing, considering how much we’d both liked District 9, but hey, who cares.

From there, I found a nearby place where I could get a lobster roll and A could get a burger. We found a perfect little shack, and I devoured my roll and the delicious house-made coleslaw. I grew up a lobster lover (my dad’s first book was a collection of stories, essays, and research about lobsters– he’s pretty cool), so anytime I get a chance to have a real lobster, I do it.

We finished the evening in downtown Fairfield at 16 Handles for froyo. We considered going to another movie, but none of times were great, so we just walked around. We spent about an hour wandering in the bookstore for Fairfield University. We got home around 9:30pm so we could tuck in early.

SUNDAY

We attempted to get up on time so we could get an early start, but failed. We managed to rouse ourselves by 9 and stumbled into the shower. We left in the car shortly afterwards, along 95 up the coast towards Mystic, CT!

I haven’t been to Mystic since I was very, very young. My cousin (on my Mom’s side) lived there for a short time, as I recall, but she no longer does, and either way, very soon after she moved, we stopped talking to that side of the family (drugs and addiction will do that). On a much happier note, Mystic was basically all new and SO STUPID FUN.

Again, we’re nerds. Mystic Seaport is basically a transformed little area that is an outdoor/indoor museum. You can wander at your leisure into old buildings transformed into artifacts museums, old ships restored to their former glory with information guides and plaques, recreated shops and stores with volunteers who did the typesetting and cobbling and steel-working while they chatted with you. In other words, it was HEAVEN. Around 3pm, we realized we should skedaddle if we wanted to make the Aquarium too (we bought a "MysticPass" which allowed us, for $50 each, to visit the Seaport, Aquarium (plus a free soda), and the Planetarium). We scarfed some lunch in the car, then drove down the street.

The aquarium was crazy busy, but we managed to get our drinks and some ice cream and sat down to come up with a plan. We started in the Titanic exhibit, felt up some manta rays (I LOVE THAT), watched the belugas, then headed back inside to do the pretty cool live chat with the Nautilus ship in the Caribbean. From there we did the main aquarium, seeing penguins, sea lions, frogs, turtles, the most adorable recovering gray seal, then the whole inside portion, with fish, sharks, rays, turtles, lobsters, and many many more. We concluded with the sea lion show. All in all, we spent a glorious two hours and hopped back into the car right around closing time.

We spent some time wandering around the little nook of shops called Olde Mistick Village before heading to a local restaurant for our final vacation dinner (I got a little pissy about trying to choose somewhere, which A was very patient about, but eventually I just chose). I got two yummy fig cocktails, scallops, and we shared fried green beans and chocolate mousse. We got back on the road in time to stop in Westbrook to see Jobs, which kind of sucked, unfortunately. By the time we got home, we fell into bed, totally exhausted.

MONDAY

We started the day by putting in all our laundry, including all the sheets and towels we used. We wanted to grab breakfast at Home on the Range again while the laundry dried, but it was closed. Boo. Trusty Siri led us to a diner where we got an equivalent breakfast in type, but far inferior in atmosphere and quality. C’est la vie. 🙂 When we got back, I folded and cleaned and gave A 20 bucks to grab a bottle of wine to leave as a gift. We were finally out of the house just before 11 to head back for day two in Mystic! We’d extended our car rental to the last moment (the Alamo closed at 6:30pm) so we could fit in a bit more delightful time.

Once back in Mystic, we headed straight to the area we’d missed, particularly the LA Burton, a early 20th century fishing ship. We got on board and wandered around, disembarking just in time to watch the full hourlong demonstration of the anchor drop, the dory boat demonstration, and then finally, the anchor raise. At 2pm, we saw the planetarium show, which was super low tech and full of screaming children, but otherwise, lovely. We saw a few more exhibits, but quickly realized that we had to head home in order to make it to NYC by 6:30pm.With traffic and a stop for food in Milford, we pulled up in front of our door in Washington Heights just a touch after 6. I headed upstairs with the luggage while A dropped the car off.

I have been working on this entry for days! So I’m just gonna post it! More later. 🙂

xoxo

I Don’t Want to Be Here.

I don’t want to fucking be in these fucking rehearsals. They make me feel bad. I want to open this thing. I don’t want two more nights of four hour rehearsals. I want it to be done. I want to not see these people again.

The director (also an actor) is stressed. Totally over book. I get that, and I have excused that. But then tonight during notes… he makes me cry. Not on purpose, but. I literally don’t know what to do in this situation– open my mouth and try and get clarity and discuss a moment, or shut up and just not care about that moment being unspecific and possibly wrong?

The director gave a note to me and another girl, saying: “I don’t know why you guys cluster at this point, but you should spread out and split.

To which my automatic response, because the girl and I had discussed that moment specifically, was “Oh, yeah, we were never staged in that moment, so I think we just clung.” I was smiling, not making an excuse, just sort of joking about how that bad staging happened, and the director, in the same tone of voice, says “okay, so I didn’t ask why you were there, I asked you to change it. This is another moment where talking about it is not helpful, and I wish you would just take the note.”

And later we were talking about how we needed to identify a character in a scene as Hermes and the director said we should do it at the beginning of the scene. I wasn’t thinking, I guess, because I said, “oh, why don’t we save that for the great reveal of the winged hat?” The director argued that we needed more than the hat to show audiences it’s Hermes, and I agreed– my suggestion was to put the “look it’s Hermes” line with the winged hat reveal. He continues to disagree and I realized I’ve made an error. I say, “it doesn’t matter,” to try and eject myself from the conversation, and he says, “it does matter.” Which meant it matters and I am wrong.

UGH.

So, the other thing was he wants me to wear ballet slippers for my Just Person character. Fine, except I have such a quick change out of that scene that I can barely make it into the next scene REGARDLESS of a change of shoes. I tell the director this and he acts as though what I’m saying is somehow purposefully making his job hard.

HIM: “Are you wearing those boat shoes for the show?”
ME: “No, my black converse.”
HIM: “Could you wear those shoes?”
ME: “Yes, sure. I mean, they’re blue, but…”
HIM: “The problem is that when we see those shoes under the dress it looks bad.”
ME: “Okay. I mean, I don’t know what to do because I have that quick change and my chorus character is a man… And converse are the only black shoes I have that will work…”
HIM: “Can you wear ballet slippers for that scene?”
ME: “I mean, I have a super super quick change so I don’t think it’s possible.”
HIM: “Everything is possible, whether it’s a matter of leaving earlier (impossible since I have the final line in the scene), having help (everyone is already helping with another quick change and shoes have LACES), or something. Please think about it.”

Here’s what I’m thinking about:

1. Why am I responsible for this costume issue? Why I am in the wrong when I shouldn’t even have to provide my own clothing?

2. I’m not buying new shoes for this fucking thing. No. Nor am I wearing shoes that I feel are unsafe (my other black shoes have no traction. I will not wear them.) Also we’re doing our own laundry but are apparently meant to rehearse in costume every night, and we have 4 shows in a row. None of this is okay. It probably goes against Equity rules, in fact.

3. If this was any other show or company, this would not be my problem. Case in point: on my last show, my character was known for wearing sweatshirts. I wore a large black one. In tech, I was given another large black sweatshirt as the gift that one character gives my character as a mean sort of joke. In the epilogue, I am wearing this new sweatshirt.

I told the director, “So I think that this sweatshirt needs to be more distinguishable from my previous one, otherwise you can’t tell in the epilogue that I’m wearing her gift. Also the epilogue is aspirational, so I should look BETTER than I did before.” He trusts me, talks to the designer, and the next day I had a perfect sweatshirt.

4. I don’t feel inclined to think about SHIT because I don’t fucking care about this show. I don’t. And I dread rehearsals and I can’t wait to never go back. I can’t wait for breaks and I am the first person to leave. I want this to be over. I want it over so badly. I feel terrible because I shouldn’t hate it like this, I should put on a happy face, but I can’t. I want everyone to know how much I don’t want to be here, somehow, subconsciously.

I’m usually so good at keeping to myself. I don’t know what happened today, but I hated it. Especially because I DON’T WANT TO BE HERE ANYWAY. Please don’t treat me like shit at a rehearsal I already don’t want to be at. I am in such a terrible mood.

In other news, I found out that my sister, and I quote from the FB message my mother sent me: “J is having a laparascopic procedure tomorrow. It will be less invasive than last time and she should be able to get to school by Tuesday. Her doc is suspending”Julia’s uterus because its retroverted position (possibly from the endometriosis) is still causing her pain in certain situations. This has a 85-90% chance of solving that issue.”

This girl. Always in surgery. And why am I jealous? That fucking sucks.

Unfortunately, I like pity. I like being taken care of.

And right now, A is far away, the cat is angry, and I’m doing a show that I really fucking hate. I wouldn’t mind popping into the hospital right now for some Jello.

Chapter Complete

Closing night.

My heart feels very full. Mostly of love, but there’s a bit of heaviness.

I have had struggle after struggle with this company– this universe that I helped create and populate that recently became a stranger to me– and with the friends therein. Our relationship has changed. More importantly, my expectations have changed. What I wanted from my relationship with this group of people turned out to be unrealistic. They cluster and cling, but I need some independence. I wanted them to feel like my best friends even when I wasn’t ensconced in their apartment. My friendships with L and K are like that. But that’s not who they are and how they function. This doesn’t make them bad people. They still like– no, love– me.

But that’s all backdrop to this moment. This is the first play I’ve done since last year’s amazing NJ triumph. Readings and workshops and short films don’t count, because working on a full play requires am inordinate investment. You dedicate a month to daily 5 hour rehearsals and another to nightly two-hour performances that leave you sweating and exhausted. You dedicate hours of time outside of these parameters to learn your lines, think about the role, remember your blocking. You can’t fake that stuff. And in the rehearsal room, you are an explorer– finding what works, nixing what doesn’t, working with partners who are all independent and trying to cohere into a single vision. That’s tough.

But this process, from start to finish, from the first read to tonight’s closing performance, I have had. So. Much. Fun.

I loved the atmosphere in the rehearsal room, full of laughter and silliness and big choices and mistakes and breaking when someone was genuinely too fucking funny.

I loved the one-on-one scene work, working with a director and actors I’m completely comfortable with. It was like the most fun scene study class ever.

I loved seeing the playwright laugh at his own jokes when we nailed them (or improved them).

I loved suggesting a joke and having the director guffaw and okay it: “Yes. Genius.”

I loved the twenty or so minutes of waiting in the dressing room once the house opened, a cast of six clowns in knee pads, all equal, all trusting, cracking jokes and rolling our eyes at each other.

I loved each pratfall and fake bump and trip, even when it got fucked up. My body felt alive when I leapt and fell and tripped.

I loved the sweat that dripped like water down my face every night. It was embarrassing, yes, but it was pure ME, pure energy. (It mainly happened because I was doing a super physical show in sweatpants and a sweatshirt in the summer… And I was in a clown squat for 80% of the show).

I loved every moment on that stage. I always do (I mean, in most cases!), but this just felt like pure, unfettered fun.

I don’t think the show is spectacular. I think it has flaws. Lots. But I do think it’s funny, and I had such fun doing it. Such fun. And I didn’t care about getting agents or casting directors to see it. I invited them (none came of course, including the one I’m signed with!) but it felt good to just let this be about joy. I didn’t need to sell this show. I just needed to enjoy it. And boy, did I.

After tonight (and tonight’s festivities), I’m back in rehearsal for the Fringe show. I’m there 4 hours a night Sunday through Thursday, with opening night on Friday and five shows spread through the next week. This monday I have jury duty (how about that?!). I have to go into work on Tuesday, I have a haircut on Wednesday. On the 20th, A is home, and on the 21 he’ll see our closing and we’ll leave for CT.

It’s a race to the finish. I’m sorry to say goodbye to this lap of the relay. It has been truly, purely wonderful.