9/18/01

I love the phrase, “Take a knee.” 🙂

Monday, I was wandering around backstage and I felt incredibly lonely. It was dim and cold, like always, but very empty. There are always people running around backstage, hammering away in the garage or dripping paint all over the floor. The inner door to the garage was open and I went in. It brought back a painful rush of memories. Of cozy winter afternoons spent in painted shirts and jeans, doing Mrs. C’s “rolled rag” design. Of chilly Saturday mornings in the fall, warmed by Stop ‘n’ Go coffee and our laughter.

I saw the “J” that is outlined in silver spray paint on the garage floor. That’s ME. Forever. In ten years, a quiet girl with a confused mind will wander into that garage, looking for the staple gun or black paint, and she’ll see it. And maybe wonder who put it there. And why they did. I’m forever part of that stage, that place. It’s not just a stage, though. It is my LIFE. I live and breath the sawdust, the paint fumes, the years of dust and dirt and AGE. I love the smell of age. Not mustiness. But of the gradual process of aging that a building goes through.

I was reminded of the musical. Despite the bull I talked of and the “internal grief” (whatever) I went through, I had some wonderful times in those three months. I can recall some hysterical talks about “pot-sex-drinking-etc.” Naomi driving 90 down that county road. Falling out of the truck. The carpet rolls! 🙂 I’m sure we all remember those damn things. Chinese food from Panda Garden (I have the fortune). Introducing a whole hell of a lot of newbies. It really was a bonding experience for so many of us. And that all began almost a year ago.

There were bad moments, too. The aftermath of my idiotic thinking, the moment Kim and I would REALLY not like to relive, and a not so happy cell phone call to Corey during the last dress rehearsal. And to add to that one, let’s just say my parents weren’t real pleased with a $60 bill from U.S. Cellular.

But good or bad, I’m not going to forget any of these things. And tripping over extension cords in the garage and finding the random Mountain Dew can in the tool cupboard nearly made me cry. Because this year in drama is nothing of what I thought it would be. Of course. The next year never is.

But wait. The first three years were somewhat similar. This year doesn’t fit that pattern.

But I guess that’s just how it goes.

Junior year.

The worst year I ever had.

But at the same time, one of the best.

How does THAT figure?