*pokes head up from sand again*
It’s show week. Which means basically all of my daily fargoes are given over to making sure we put on a good one, which further means very little time or energy leftover for things like writing novels or posting to websites. Regularly scheduled programming will return once we are sure what is normal anyway.
Anyway, I woke up today feeling shockingly calm. Shockingly calm especially in contrast to my recent wakeups, which have been more and more dread- and panic-filled. The mad run-up to opening a high school musical will do that to you, what with teenagers wearing sneakers instead of character shoes in dress rehearsal, the sudden inability to make it through a scene which has gone off without a hitch in practice for weeks, or the near-constant flareups of arguments between friends, deepening of grudges between already-established enemies, and the IV drip of emotions that high school students have coursing through their systems at any given moment.
It’s been a rough several weeks, is what I’m saying.
But, like I said, calm this morning. And I didn’t know why, until it struck me — there is nothing more that I can do for the show. No more time to coach the actors. No more time to run the scene changes. No more time to “fix” anything. At this point, if it’s broken, it’s going on the stage broken, and while that’s not in and of itself a happy thought, it’s at least a sort of peaceful one.
Like a javelin in flight or an e-mail you forgot to proofread, it’s out there now. It’s sailing through the ether and it will either hit its target, or not, and well, whatever will be will be.
Of course, I’m also fully cognizant that this is the eye of the storm. We open tomorrow, and that will bring its own stress and panic to bear.
But for today — or, I should say, for this moment — I’m calm.
Which is nice.
See you in a week.