WARNING: numbers

First: it is very odd to me that neither of the gyms I’ve gone to now in AL have scales in their locker rooms… only ONE scale for the whole gym that’s out in the main area. Plus, it’s an old-fashioned scale. In NYC, you have old fashioned scales, maybe, but there are going to be at least three in a locker room. C’mon. What is this nonsense?

At my wig fitting a couple of days ago my hair person said that I’d lost weight since being here. I felt like it might be true– I eat less when I don’t have a nice boy to ask for desserts. Plus, I’ve been working out pretty regularly. A part of me felt a bit nervous about it– but not TOO nervous. My depression is under control, and I know my triggers. I’m not going off the edge, and I know that, 100%, with a confidence that really makes me feel strong.

Today, as I changed back into my clothes after a costume fitting, I pulled the scale down off the shelf and weighed myself in my show slip and socks.

I weighed the low end of what I usually weigh.

Part of me was disappointed.


I don’t want to lose weight– at the VERY least, my costumes need to fit for the next two months.

I’m not anxious or freaked out. I’m just always amazed at how ingrained our reactions to numbers are. I think that, at least for me, it has less to do with my ED than the constantly ingrained notion in our society (and my biz in particular) that we should always be losing weight… even if we genuinely don’t need to.

Life is weird.

Starting tech tomorrow. Here. We. Go. http://www.bykennethjones.com/elyzabeth-gregory-wilders-white-lightning-new-play-rum-running-racing-romance-premieres-alabama/

Trigger / Solution

So… I haven’t written about my eating disorder in so long!


Well, because I don’t need to, most of the time. I have been stable in both weight and mental health for going on three years now. I cannot tell you how lucky that makes me feel; how grateful I am for the people and institutions who supported me; how deeply I understand how FUCKING HARD it is to come out of this whole.

To everyone still working… keep working. Be gentle with yourself. Try everything once. And most of all, find happiness somewhere– anywhere– and cherish that as you fill that up that deep sinkhole that food used to control.

It’s all pretty words, but I want anyone who is reading this to know that it is 100% hard but 100% possible to be “okay.” Remember how I also talked about how many YEARS it took? Yeah. So.

Anyway, the reason I’m posting now is because in cleaning out my computer, I found an old document. I feel certain I found it somewhere, so wherever it came from… sorry for stealing your great words. It’s a list of triggers and solutions. It’s not perfect, but it’s a great resource. I invite you to check it out.

With love and affection,

A series of unfamiliar situations, “unsafe” foods, unpredictable environments, restaurants, and social eating, like a vacation.
(Solution: Plan ahead, bring my own foods, get through as many challenges as possible, but keep as much consistency as possible.  Seek accountability with one or more of my traveling partners and be completely honest.)

Feeling strong, happy, and successful.
(Solution: remember that I must eat to stay this way.  All strong people eat.)

Conflict within a friendship or family relationship
(Solution: Evaluate my role honestly; make amends if necessary; set boundaries and get out.)

Sadness or failure
(Solution: let myself feel all of my emotions; be gentle with myself.  Remember that I need to eat to have strength to cope.  Remember that no one is perfect.) SEE INSIDE OUT!!!!! (that’s from B)

Stress or busyness
(Solution: make eating a priority to myself.  Eliminate as much stress as possible from life.  Make dates with friends to ensure that I eat when I am “too busy.” )

Weight gain
(Solution: follow nutritionist’s recommendations and forget about it.  Don’t weigh myself.)

Feeling overwhelmed
(Solution: have a friend or therapist help me evaluate and simplify my life.  If I am still stressed, realize that it is BETTER TO QUIT SOMETHING than to fall back into my ED.)

A friend’s ED, weight loss, skipped meals or odd food/exercise habits
(Solution: remember that I am following a perfectly prescribed diet and that I need to do what is right and healthy for me.  Realize that I probably have much more substantial nutrition knowledge than them.  Avoid meal times or diet talk with affected friend.)

Clothes not fitting
(Solution: throw item away and purchase a replacement, preferably a different brand.  Realize that it’s not my failure; it’s the clothing designer’s failure.)

Reading about diets or seeing pictures of underweight celebrities
(Solution: don’t read it.  Get accountability in this area if need be.  If I am needing an escape, read a travel or home decoration magazine, or a Christian or psychology book.)

Sense of loneliness
(Solution: schedule time for meaningful interaction with another human—if I don’t have a friend, make one.  Be vulnerable and express my needs.)

Weight loss
(Solution: immediately evaluate the cause.  If related to illness, take time off from school/exercise/life to get better.  If related to ED behaviors, notify therapist and others and implement what is needed.  If accidental and repeated again the next week, add extra nutrition.  Treat it as a serious symptom.)

Headshotz Detox

** This post talks about food. And body. And stuff. So… FYI. **

Prepping for my headshots on Tuesday. The last time I got headshots, it was January of my senior year of college. I was deep in my disorder– unhappy with my body and terribly anxious for the future. I was flustered and overwhelmed.

The night before headshots, after taking my nutritionist’s advice and “pampering” myself (candles, hair mask, face mask, self-care), I binged on raw quinoa. Because that’s what you do when you have an eating disorder and you are incredibly anxious and vulnerable and alone.

The next morning, I woke to the overwhelming need to vomit. I did. Once, twice, three times. This is around 5am. My shoot started at 8am. I tried to go out and get a Starbucks egg sandwich, since I didn’t have any “tummy settling” food in the house (i.e. no carbs). On my walk home from the store, I felt a wave hit me again, and I found myself knelt over the lip of the sidewalk, vomiting my sandwich into the snow.

I have had worse moments than that, but none with such terrible timing. I gave myself food poisoning the night before my $875 headshots– my one main entre into the business.

So now I’m getting a second chance. I do NOT want to fuck this one up.

I’m pretty happy with my body now. I’m about where I want to be, about where I think I’m marketable. I’d like to stick here as long as possible, and having photos that show it will help me a lot. I’m also pleased with my hair color (slightly lighter) and my eyebrows (slightly lighter too, per my agent’s finally-heeded suggestion). But for the next seven days, I am on a Pre-Headshots Detox. Not a real detox, don’t worry, just one that I think will help make me the best I can be.

1. No morning EPAs.
No getting up at the ass-crack of dawn to audition for something I won’t book. If I’m meant to book a show, I’ll have gone to that audition. These can pass. I will survive. I have survived before.

2. Lots of sleep.
Along with the no morning EPAs, I need to let myself get to bed at an appropriate hour and get up at an appropriate hour.

3. Do the gym like I’m supposed to do the gym.
With no morning EPAs and no one to really impress this week, I don’t have to do my hair perfectly every day. This means I need to return to my gym schedule– 3x a week (Wed, Fri, Sun, Mon)and get those endorphins going.

I will drink AT LEAST 4 fillings of my 20mL water bottle. That’s 80mL. I did this today and I swear to god, I have never peed so much in my life. This is HEALTHY, people. I am clearly not doing a good job of hydration.

5. Cut down on salt.
Salt is bloating. Especially Sun-Tues, I need to avoid any added salt. Nothing more than a sprinkle on my eggs.

6. Veggies and less junk.
I am lucky enough to live with a lovely boy… who eats a lot of crap. He’s from rural America… it’s his way. I have eaten more crap since being with him than in the last 4 years combined. (just goes to show you that FOOD doesn’t make you fat, BINGING does). So, I’m focusing heavily on proteins (beans) and greens (kale, spinach) and fruits (apples). Not so much sugar. In fact, try not to do ANY added sugar besides my morning coffee.

7. No, I’m not giving up coffee.
Sorry. I have my limits. I’m not dependent on it, but I’ve gotta have some boundaries.

8. Any other recommendations?
I’ll take anything you have to share. I’m not dieting or detoxing… I’m just looking for a couple of simple adjustments to focus on so that I can look my best on Tuesday. This girl wants pictures that will make the casting directors drool. 🙂



P.S. My birthday was great. 🙂 Happy 24th to me!


Falling Apart but Just Fine

When A leaves, I fall apart.
The last two nights, I’ve binged myself into a stupor and found myself unable to get out of bed.

It used to be that I felt like I needed alone time in order to process and care for myself. It’s certainly true that after a binge or when I’m super hungry, I am completely shut off to other people. I retreat internally. BUT… when I don’t allow myself to binge or starve (i.e. when A is here and there’s no opportunity), I am fine. I fall apart when I binge and I binge when he leaves. Ergo: when he leaves, I fall apart.

I’ve got to get better at this, since A is in the Army reserves and has to leave for a weekend every month (sometimes longer, sometimes shorter). Plus it’s not a great system to completely depend on my boyfriend to help keep me stable. But it’s been working. And living with him has been a great gift for that reason (among many others). But when I’m alone again, the bad habits overwhelm me and I fall apart.

The funny thing is that although I’ve been eating less “healthy” than I do on my own (no smoothies for breakfast, more carbs than I like to allow myself, dessert most nights), my weight has stayed stable, and even dropped a little bit. I KNOW, RIGHT?!
It’s actually a kind of remarkable lesson that as long as I’m not freaking out– not binging, not starving– my weight will be fine. I don’t have to starve myself.

So I’ve actively been trying to stop the “freaking out” and stop thinking about losing weight. Because if I just allow myself to focus on my relationship, and allow food to just be food, no matter its calorie content or perceived healthfulness, I’m gonna be just fine.

A’s back tomorrow night. We’re making dinner. Thank god.

Happy Right Here

I told my therapist, when talking about my agent, that I was willing to lose weight, but that I refused to give it my whole brain. I choked up spontaneously as I said, “I’m just so relieved to not be putting my whole brain onto making myself a certain way or fulfilling some expectation.” I was really proud of this statement.

The truth is, I would LOVE to lose weight. I don’t know how much I weight right now (scale is packed, and I’m fitting into my clothes but I’d say definitely more bloated than usual from the BC), and frankly that both excites and scares me. I’ve never been an excessive “weigh-er,” but knowing my weight really can shift my mood and my brain all day.

This morning my boyfriend told me he felt “apathetic and useless” this week. He’s been really busy (both of us have) but when he’s not busy, we’re lying in bed and watching Slings & Arrows, or eating baked goods I made, or watching movies and drinking wine. He says that on the way home from house managing (at like 11pm), he knows he “should” and wants to be writing, but he ends up just sitting.

How familiar does THIS sound, ladies?!

My therapist calls these kinds of things “shoulds.” I’ll talk to her about a day I had and accidentally throw in a “I should have gone to the gym” or “I shouldn’t have reacted that way” and she’ll catch it. “Who says?” “What’s the worst thing that could happen if you don’t?” Sometimes, now, I feel like I give myself too much slack (stayed in today instead of going to an open call audition in Brooklyn, planned on going to ballet class but didn’t), but again, who says I “should” do anything? Why should the “shoulds” control my life?

I told my boyfriend some of my rationalizations: “You’re tired. You’re exhausted– your body and brain needs a break.” He says, “I’m happiest when my brain is going. I don’t like not using it.” And I replied, “Sometimes even brains need a break.” I realized that this conversation was exactly like a conversation I have had in my own head countless times.

Something I’ve learned in the last few years is how to respect what I want, not what “they” think I “should” do. No one is watching me. Brain can’t handle reading right now? Okay, it’s tired. I’ll listen to music on the train. Body refusing to want to exercise? Maybe try again later, but maybe just assume that it’ll be ready to go again soon and it’ll let me know. Dreading an early morning audition I’m not prepared for? Don’t go. Sleep in and don’t freak yourself out.

It’s constant negotiating; constantly reminding myself that I can be the decision-maker.

Now, I live with a boy. A boy whose diet is very different than mine (I don’t eat meat, he’s a carnivore, among other things). I’ve had more ice cream since moving in with him than I’ve had in the last year combined. I don’t think I’m gaining weight, though. I think the abundance of food is a comfort… I don’t feel like I have to gorge. I get to eat breakfast and sometimes other meals with him. I don’t feel like a pig when he’s around. I’ve barely binged two or three times. Sometimes overeating, but nothing that derails my day or even necessarily puts me over a major calorie edge. I can’t weigh myself. And y’know, I think I’m just all around happier.

So yes. I’d gladly lose weight. I know that I “should.”

But I’m so enjoying living in this moment, so enjoying not letting obsessive thoughts and other people’s “shoulds” get in the way of my happiness, that I wouldn’t sacrifice any of it.

I’m not fat.

I’ll dye my hair for her. I’ll get new pictures for her. I’ll learn how to put on makeup for her.

But my happiness is more important than a number on the scale. I may lose parts because of it, but I won’t lose the ones I’m mean to have.

I’m happy right here, thanks.

I believe that we, that this planet, hasn’t seen its Golden Age. Everybody says its finished … art’s finished, rock and roll is dead, God is dead. Fuck that! This is my chance in the world. I didn’t live back there in Mesopotamia, I wasn’t there in the Garden of Eden, I wasn’t there with Emperor Han, I’m right here right now and I want now to be the Golden Age …if only each generation would realise that the time for greatness is right now when they’re alive … the time to flower is now.”
Patti Smith

I’m crying, and I don’t know if it’s joy or sadness.

“The hardest group to represent is young women. And even harder is young white women. There are too many of you, and, unfortunately, it’s all about looks.”

“I’m tired of waiting for a year for someone to realize that their picture isn’t good enough or they don’t do what they need to to compete with the other beautiful young women out there. I don’t want to waste my time when that’s what the business is concerned with.”

“You made one mistake in coming to my office without an ounce of makeup on your face… I know it’s summer. I don’t care.”

“Your hair is pretty good. Is that curl in it natural?… no, don’t straighten it, I hate that.”

“You need to lose about 15 pounds. That’ll take all that out from under your chin and accentuate your cheekbones. You have full cheeks, it’s your youth thing, but you’ll just look better. And if you lose a little weight, you can play even younger.”

“I’d send you out for like… sixteen to twenty four. You need a picture that says, ’16/17,’ a pretty picture, and a picture that says ‘young professional.'”

“Make a list of all the roles you could conceivably play, in TV, film, theatre… realistically, within the age range I’ve given you.”

“Yeah, if you lose that bit of weight, fix your resume, wear something a little tighter…”

I’d love to sign you.”

Emotional Soup

Tonight I smoked a bowl and took at least three hits from a vaporizer that looked like a walkie talkie. I’ve smoked a few times before, but I NEVER feel high.

(actually, the woman whose bowl I was smoking is an actress who was in Hair on Broadway– among others, including Rent– and told a story about how Jonathan Groff had never “felt high” before and needed to because he’d booked the Woodstock movie, so Will Swenson got him shitfaced)

Tonight is the “highest” I’ve ever felt, but I don’t feel “high.” I feel buzzed on alcohol– lightly so, to the point where thinking and my lips are slower, but I’m still generally clearheaded– but no great relaxing high. Maybe I’m doing something wrong. I don’t know (although of course now I’m thinking that I’ll read this tomorrow and realize I was a mess), and it’s okay. I don’t really like smoking anyway.

I’ve had a lot of the “emotional soup” lately, swirling thoughts and anxiety, highs of determination and lows of self-disgust. This is not shocking, as I should get my period tomorrow, but it’s unwelcome.

This Monday is a big, big day. It’s hard yet to know quite how big. Basically, it’s our special “industry” performance, so the house will be stuffed with casting directors and producers and Broadway actors and directors– all people who could give me a job. A big job.

So the swirling thoughts mostly focus on my body, of course, because while I’m self destructive, I’m also obnoxiously proud of my work. They may hate my performance, but I know I’m doing my job– the director, the playwright, and I am happy with what I’m doing.

I think about the roundness of my arms in my costume tee shirts. I’ve been freaking out over what dress to wear (maybe buy a new one? No, stop! You don’t have the money!). I’ve already fallen head over heels in love with an actor who is coming and has never met me, or likely ever dated a non-soap star. I am again convinced that looking the way I look, I will never work again.

I’ll get through it. I’m just already predicting a week-long dip in the “emotional soup.”

“You’re a fucking idiot.”

That’s a quote from one of the members of my little theatrical mansion-commune last night after a few glasses of wine.

He apologized this morning, assuring me he meant it ironically. Of course I knew that.

And I told him, last night, and this morning again, he was right.

This comment came out of a discussion about the boys who hover around me. There are two, both incredibly attractive, both accomplished in their fields, both of whom I’ve had a little somethin’-somethin’ with already. And both promised to come see this show, and both asked to stay over. The one I’m really focusing on is the one we’ll call “Eyes.” He said he’d come next week, and could we have a pajama party? Obviously that’s code for something. And it got me excited, because unfortunately, I’m head over heels in love with him and have been from the first moment I saw him.

The bad news is, that after an amazing, epic, seven hour “date” (which involved dancing and kissing, FYI), on the way home he told me “I have a girl in my life.” Whatever the fuck that means, it ain’t good. (For the full, unedited tale– it’s LONG– refer here: https://twirlinggirl.wordpress.com/2011/02/21/22/).

So basically, this is what it is, as elucidated by my dear friend last night:

“So this guy is an asshole who treats you badly and will continue to abuse your heart. And yet you will continue to let him. You’re a fucking idiot.

He’s right.

(ooh, that’s a good end to the entry… unfortunately I have more to say)

Yesterday in therapy, I was focusing on all the good feelings of the show and this great group of people. My therapist was guiding me through enjoying the feeling of that in my body. But then my hands flicked over my face, skimming over a pimple. Immediately, the feeling of “full-heartedness” was gone, and I couldn’t get it back.

I told my therapist that I’d lost it. She asked what had stepped into its place. I had a hard time putting it into words (therapy is hard, y’all!), but basically what it was is that feeling of: “Oh good lord, why are you happy about yourself? You are ugly and fat, and whatever specialness you feel right now is going to get shot down the second you walk into an audition room or the gym or into a theatre.”

So what is that part’s purpose, my therapist asked. What does a part whose job is to pull me back down from happiness and the feeling of being “special” into the feeling of being inadequate do for me?

I think there are a number of reasons.

1. It’s trying to protect me from getting hurt. If you’re mediocre, you’re not surprised when you encounter cruelty.

2. “Special” is a dangerous place to be. I think this stems back from early childhood, where I was popular and well-liked, without really trying or thinking about it. Then a girl came into the school, and after befriending me and taking me deep into the bowels of secret-girl-sisterhood, proceeded to tear me down, stripping me of my power, turning the rest of the class against me, and essentially turned me into a pariah. I’m genetically programmed to have psychological issues, but this bitch got those motors running full throttle.

3. And when it comes to boys, feeling mediocre and being “chosen” makes me feel special. There aren’t many ways, when I so frequently feel inadequate and ugly and like a terrible non-human, to make me feel special again. One of those ways is the attention of attractive boys. Now, this is not to say that I seek this attention out– but in the case of these two men, these two men “totally out of my league”— I continue to seek their attention because it makes me feel like less of a homely disaster. Yeah, and that’s healthy.

So all of this to say, no, I’m not generally a fucking idiot. But in terms of these boys, these gorgeous, asshole boys (who I KNOW would NEVER come see my show unless there was something in it for them– “Eyes” didn’t even see my last show, in which I played the lead, even when I got him FREE TICKETS) I am a fucking idiot.

So let’s just check that off the therapy checklist of things I’ve gotta work on.

It’s getting long.

The Times’ They are A-Changin’

Times review came out.

It came out halfway (at least) through the show tonight. I have a Google alert on my name so I got it during scene 2 in Act I.

It’s not great. In fact, it’s pretty bitchy towards the play and the theatre that produced it.

However. And the big however.

He liked me. And I quote: “Thanks to competent actors under the direction of [director], this hodgepodge manages to achieve some semblance of reality. The honey-voiced Mr. S does his best to make the obviously written [character] appear not too openly villainous at first, while Ms. B invests [my character] with considerable youthful fervor.”

It’s a testament to the power and strength of this cast that we didn’t reveal that we ALL had seen the article until tonight, as we were enjoying a glass of wine after the show. And of course… pretty much all of us (who have any technological skills at all) had gotten the alert and read the review.

Truly, and maybe this is my personal bias about this play and my personal bias about what I want my career to be like…. I can’t see it hurting us. I guess the playwright’s agents (who had previously beem full throttle interested in a NYC transfer) wanted to talk to him tomorrow. BUT. BUT. For me… this can’t change my belief that this play will transfer to NYC and succeed off-Broadway and change my life. I truly, truly believe that this will not be the end for this play. And that thought gives me such unbridled joy and enthusiasm, I can’t even express the level to which I feel it would influence my emotional life (which, like it or not, is tied to my theatrical life).

My parents loved it. My grandmother liked it, and she loved me, which is actually,betterthan I had expected. Truly. I wasn’t sure if she’d survive the New Jersey experience and remember my performance positively. Apparently she didn’t even know I was the lead? Hm. Sounds like selective memory to me. (Oh, and did I mention my grandmother grew up with Marlon Brando and didStreetcar Named Desireon Broadway with him in the ’40s? Cause that happened.)

So basically I can’t see this review derailing the train of this play. I firmly believe (for, fair enough, selfish interests) that we will transfer somewhere in NYC in the Fall (it has to be fall because I am quickly aging out of the part.)

Although, after most everyone had gone to bed (the playwright and his actress wife snuggled up taking care of each other like a goddamn little happy family goddamnit), it was just me and R, the older man (old enough to be my dad), left, finishing off our glasses of whiskey.

“You’re not going to listen to this.” he said to me, slurring a bit but clearly on a track. “You are going to have a career. You’re not done yet. You’re going to be FINE.”

Of course, I tossed my hair self-consciously and said, “oh, oh, sure… haha, thanks…” But hearing those words from someone who by NO means has to give them? And who continues on by asking how I do what I do and play 14 so convincinly? I believed him. I allowed the compliment and the faith he had in me to inject past the soft fleshy bits, dogding the firm, stodgy bone, and squeeze out right into that wonderful heart muscle, that pumps me full of self-worth (sometimes) when there’s some great compliment that made it there. And that one? More than any of the others I’ve gotten so far… that one made it. And I let it bloom quietly in my little personal happiness greenhouse… where I can tend for the blooms of good feeling and good will that sprout; where I can keep them calm and secret and purely mine; where I can enjoy them without the guilt of owning them… my personal garden of sweet, sweet statements.

On a totally other note.

My body. Obviously. What else is new.

Isn’t it remarkable how every day your body can look completely different? For some reason today, my legs looked lean and thin today… my stomach looked extra flat… my collarbones said hello more than once. I obviously did not lose weight in 12 hours. So… it’s clearly just my mind. But is there some way to control that, so I can hold onto the beauty of how i see my body at this moment and reject the days where I want to slice every non-essential lump off with a machete?

I mean, no. No is the answer. But that’s how I feel many days. And perhaps, in my dreams, in my dreams of career and jobs and future and more than anything else in the world, the kind of life I need, want, crave…. I will be able to experience each day, each feeling, each body sensation as fine. I will not have days where I feel as though I have 8 chins and flabby thighs. Or if I do have those days I will let them go. I will not dream of being a waif because I will see my body as strong and important and in a totally “normal” place.

As a recovering bipolar, balance is the place I crave, normal is the place I dream of…. and I think I will be fighting to find that place, those places, for the rest of my life.

And I do believe I’m up to that war. I’m just going to have to fight one battle at a time.

xoxo to all.

And EXTRA SPECIAL THANKS to those of you who commented on my last post. Truly. You made an enormous difference in how I felt. I am beyond grateful for your continued interest in my silly little life and your support when it goes off the rails. I am here for you too. Seriously, email me, write me, whatever. I am consistently amazed by your strength and your ability to share those strengths with me. My heart is very full of you right now. 🙂

Sleep well, my loves. Until next late night in my little regional theatre world…
xoxo B.

Pins and Needles

My last post didn’t post… grrr WordPress. This has happened before and it’s the most annoying.

So. I’m back in the city till Thursday afternoon, when we reconvene in NJ to continue the run of the show. Opening night was last Saturday (all of this was in my last post, blerg), and it was great. The development producers loved it, the subscribers loved it, the casting director who gave me her card (!) loved it… All is well. It’s weird not doing the show at the moment, but it’s okay to be back in the city.

I can’t stop binging, though. Part of it is definitely that I’m on my period, but I have just been eating too, too, too much. It’s not crazy, out of control binging to death levels, but I am eating everything in the house. I only needed to supply myself enough food for a few days, but each day, I’ve eaten all of it. What the fuck? Part of the problem is that I’m way too focused on my weight right now. I need to calm the fuck down. Easier said than done, obviously.

Went to the doc on Monday and she told me flat-out what my BMI was and that it was “perfect.” Which truly did make me feel good… but also not good enough. I really enjoyed being called “healthy” by this doctor, but it didn’t change my currently obsessive desire to lose about 15 pounds. And like THAT is gonna happen anytime soon. Shit.

Anyway, many critics have come to the show so far, but we’ve only gotten one review, from the NJ Star-Ledger. The New York Times came on Sunday, so I am literally googling my name every hour like an asshole just WAITING for it to show. For some reason I’m not nervous… (I don’t think I’d be singled out as bad)… I just want to SEE it.

The first review, though, was a rave. And in particular about my performance.

“And [my character] is marvelously portrayed by B. She can give a sharp retort when it’s called for, but she’d just as soon be nice to everyone. To watch B try to maintain her composure when events conspire against [my character] makes for a heartbreaking performance.

[Director], [Playwright] and all the characters make clear how much they admire [my character]. So will many who make their way to [the show].”

So THAT feels good.

Hold onto that, B, hold onto that.

you are enough.