At this point last week I did not have the full script memorized. Now it's over. I'm just beyond overwhelmed, and I've been in a constant state of emotional instability and I'm having a terrible time figuring out what to do with myself now. I mean, I know what to do. Clean the house, catch up on homework, figure out what's going on with our living situation, sleep, eat well, go to the gym, and prepare for the holidays. But since sometime last Spring I haven't done anything without this show in the back of my mind, and then starting in the summer it's been at the very forefront of my every waking moment. I'm exhausted in a way that I don't even understand. It's beyond tired. But there's a need to not give in to it, because of the wonderful response to the show. Here's how the last week looked:
Sunday
We load into the theatre. Another show's audience was in the process of leaving when we got there and they were striking. Everything got in, but I was sent home to work on lines (I am not terribly handy or helpful when a set is going up). I am, somehow, not freaked out that I don't know all my lines yet.
Monday
I stop by to have a quick meeting with Joseph, the director, and the set is up. It's beautiful. The lighting is gorgeous. I have this incredible moment of realization that this is really happening, and soon. I feel good about that despite having had to be at work all day, and therefore not having made progress on those lines. It's a weird conflicting emotion. It's exciting, but also, shit just got real. I go home to work, and we will see each other tomorrow when we do a cue to cue and a run. There are issues with sound.
Tuesday
I have to call out of work today, as I have been hit with a stomach bug. Of all things, this is the kind of sickness you want the week you're performing because it's gone quickly and it doesn't mess with your voice. I learn my lines (poorly) during the afternoon. At rehearsal lighting continues to be gorgeous. Sound is a big problem. I don't worry about it. Normally every little set back would reduce me to a quivering pile of rage-tears. I was remarkably chill all week. We run the show. I call for line two days before opening. I still forget the same sections I always forget. I do not worry. Sound is fucked. I do not worry about it. We hear that we're going to be in the City Paper, which is cool. Hooray for a little picture and a feature article.
Wednesday
NO. It is not a little feature. It is the whole fucking cover story for the paper this week. Bwhaa? I had to call for line last night and now you've put my nearly naked ass on the front page of the paper? Not a little part of the paper. The entire cover. Remember on Monday when shit got real? It got realer on Wednesday. I call the requisite people and spend much of the day reading wonderful congratulations from folks on my Facebook page. I'm stunned. How did this happen? I'm still flabbergasted. Then someone at work comes up to me and tells me I'm in b magazine too. With a picture and an article that says the show looks "damn awesome."
Rehearsal that night is...I don't even remember. I think I made it through without having to call line. I know I rearranged some text as we went. No train wrecks. Sound is still a mess and all of the sound people keep messing with what the other sound people have done and it's just getting tense. I'm excited. Not worried. I'm just in a positive mood. The band sounds good, and so do the back-up singers. I'm getting good feedback from the director. There's a piece of me really looking forward to the next week when I don't have to do it anymore, because it's tiring and stressful even though I seem to be handling it as well as could be expected (especially for someone who doesn't know the meaning of the words "emotional stability") I want life to return to normal.
Thursday
I'm excited. I wake up energized and positive. The feeling carries throughout the day while I'm out running errands. I get to the theatre and there are still sound issues, but they're better than the day before. I feel good, vocally healthy, and I'm not generally nervous. I felt a little wiggle of nerves once or twice, but mostly I'm focused. I know a lot of great people are coming to opening. Mom and Dad, my adviser, and the director of the MLA program in particular. Lots of students came to opening. We sold out. The show goes off basically without a hitch. There are some minor snafus, but we cover them well. No one notices. And the waves of positivity that come from the audience are mind-blowing. They love it. They laugh. They clap. And afterwards they say that we have to do it again. They love the message and we need to take it on the road because people need to hear this. I don't know what to do. I'm not good at accepting praise, let alone crushing enthusiasm. But the idea is good. We start to think about what this could be, and logistics, and I can actually see the possibility of my life changing in some real way because of this project. I try not to think about it, because I have wonderful people everywhere at the wonderful reception. I'm just going in a thousand directions. Parents, teachers, show colleagues, friends, and I'm bouncing everywhere like a pinball.
Friday
Show again, still feels good. Big crowd (we got around 100 seats filled each night, which is phenomenal). I can tell I'm getting sharp with people and I don't like it, so I try to pull the reins back a little. Start talking to band and singers about a possible redux and they're into it. There's a tinge of the feeling that "okay, we've done this, we can do it, let's just do it again and go home." That sounds terrible. I love this show more than I can say. But theatre was not meant to be done as a side gig. It takes over your life, your energy, and the people in your life get put aside because you're busy. Still it's a good show and everyone reacts super positively again. By the time we get to I'm The Only One every night I'm excited. I know the crowd will like it, and once we're to It's Raining Men it's doubly exciting. 1) That song is awesome and requires your full commitment. If you don't have it a little bit you don't have it at all. It requires that you're excited. 2) It's almost time to take these clothes off and go home!
Saturday
I took the day to get little presents for the world's best cast, band, crew, and support. I love that part. But it takes up a lot of time and suddenly the day is gone. I go to the theatre and we do our pre-show routine. Except we don't really do much of a sound check, and I realize before we start that I haven't really warmed up the way I like to, but the audience is out there now so I can't. I hum to myself to warm up and I want to go home. But at the same time I'm really taking notice of how much I really appreciate everyone who works on the show. The back up singers are wonderful and I can't imagine doing it without them, same with the band. Joseph isn't able to be there to close the show, which is sad, but nothing could be done. D'Paul's family came last night. So that adds a layer of needing to do well, which was probably good because I was able to pit that against the fact that through the middle of the first number I just think to myself that I want to go home. How is that even possible? I love to sing, and I love this show and its message, and I love lots of people in the audience. We had a great audience last night. Such wonderful enthusiasm, and appreciation for the music and the politics in the show. It's so gratifying. AND a friend I hadn't seen in a decade came out to see the show and surprised me. I couldn't have asked for a better reception from the crowd. More talk of taking this thing further.
We strike most everything from the space before we leave. My mind is already on to the house we ended up touring this morning, and what needs to happen to start cleaning up our homes, and I'm tired and I want to go to bed. I get deliriously silly in the car on the way home in a way that D'Paul thankfully plays along with, but in hindsight must have been nauseating.
Sunday
We stopped by strike this morning to get the last couple pieces of equipment. It's a gorgeous day. It looks like the theatre company will do better than break even for the show, which is all we can really ask for. There's more positive feedback and a continued insistence that the show be developed further. I am so enthusiastic about that possibility, and I want to start ASAP. We close up and we agree to meet next Sunday and have a meeting about where we are with everything.
Then on the drive to work by myself in the car things are finally back to normal. I'm in my routine and I have a reasonable amount of work to do. Then a song from the show comes on the radio and I lose it. I just start crying and missing the thing that a day ago I couldn't wait to get away from. I've been teary since. We're going to try our best to continue the show. It's not necessarily over, but I know that it might be. And it hurts in my gut, because I think we had a really good thing here. The only thing I can think to compare it to is the end of a relationship. I feel like I've been dating this show for a year and now it's gone.
So that's where I am now. I still can't believe that it was only a week. It feels like it's been at least two or three. I guess the only answer is that continuing to work on this piece and find venues for it will be massively important to me. The message is important and I do believe in it. I would love nothing more than to keep it going, and be able to measure the progress of the LGBT equality movement. It would be amazing to be able to say 7 states have legalized same sex marriage, and then 8, and 9, and so on. It feels like this show was the only real contribution I've been able to make to this cause and being without it feels like I'm losing some vital part of my identity that was actually real for a minute. Today is turning out to be hard.
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