engaged in antiquarian research

friday night's performance equaled okay. we dropped a few lines, but it turned out well.

last night's performance was great. i even missed a key prop and it was covered very well, thank you josh and carl. and whereas my interrogation scene was once rehearsed to just make everyone feel uncomfortable and tense, we added an in- to the latter and decided to--why not?--make it a full go, complete with an escalating shouting match, the best fake-crying you will ever witness sans tears, and a proximity of faces that would apparently make normal Americans twitch and go scurrying back to their comfort zones. hell to the yes; and i love that closeness of acting.

however, if it's the acting itself that i want to make a living out of, it's the moments after the performances that make life worth living. the bickering over the restaurants, the hanging out in each other's dressing rooms (everyone decent, yes), the removing of (some) make-up, the dining out, the noise, the attention we unwillingly call to our table no matter where we go, the book of answers (which gave me an interesting answer, by the way, which i don't remember, but i do remember some semblence of the question), the drinks, the desserts, the food, the inside jokes, the swapping of our favorite lines, the rehashing of what we did and didn't do onstage, the conversations about our own idiosyncracies, the sharing of smiles, laughter, winks, the eye contact made (and all the messages mis/interpreted thus), the closeness of quarters, the degrees of sudden self-disclosure, and finally, the anti-climactic walk to our cars in the parking lot, in the freezing clear air, and with weariness alight in our eyes and voices but with cheer and merriness still bouyant in our souls, we bid adieu until the next rehearsal.

i fell asleep with my stage make-up, sans bright red lipstick, still plastered to my face, and last night's homecoming was so much later than intended that i just locked doors, turned out the lights and climbed into bed, pulling every layer of flannel and comforter over my still street-clothed laden form. there is a skin-colored streak on my pillowcase, and i couldn't care any less.

one more week of this, and then i must hasten back to work to raise my paycheck to a decent college student level again. 

and i don't think i can be mistaken this time, but i could be reading the signals right for once. unfortunately, too many conflicts already present themselves between us for it to ever work, and there doesn't seem to be any situation where i could reasonably divulge anything to you.

but thank you for the compliments. both kinds.

i smile.

-d