It’s May 31. Tomorrow night, June 1, the play opens.

What a whirlwind month it’s been!

I have learned so incredibly much that I still have trouble finding the words to describe it all. One thing I do know: the green room (ours, at least) is actually green. I was clearly not paying attention when I told you it wasn’t green.

Tonight is an “invited dress.” (Ooo, look at me do the theater lingo!) This means that the show’s sponsors get bunches of tickets to hand out to their friends and family and then they all get together in one of the studio rooms for a private reception before watching the show. The director said it could be a full house. I’m ready to start performing for someone other than the directors, managers, and crew.  (Is it bad luck to admit that I think we’re ready? I hope I didn’t just jinx the play.)

Last night we added make-up to our get-ready routine. (We had already added hair—which keeps getting tweaked—and clothing.) I get to have eyebrows! (I’m much less excited about flaunting my super-high forehead to the masses.)

I tried to sleep in this morning (my parents have the younger two children, which has been A Saving Grace, so it was actually feasible), but the neighbor decided to bang in some fence posts at 7:15. I don’t think he was aware that he was pounding them straight through my head.

After lunch, I tried again to get some sleep. I had just drifted off when the neighbor decided a few more fence posts were in order, youhavegottobekiddingme. I abandoned the sleep idea and turned to chocolate, caffeine, and Ibuprofen, instead.

Though it just occurred to me, I’m in bed for much of the second act. Maybe I’ll doze off between nightmares. (Yeah, right.)

PS. Blood and burn pix coming soon!

PPS. For showtimes and ticket information, click the picture on the sidebar.

This same time, years previous: down to the river to chill, barbecued pork ribs, fresh strawberry cream pie

This same time, years previous: making art, Aunt Valerie’s blueberry bars, asparagus, goat cheese, and lemon pasta, questions and carrots, chicken butchering, a cake for Wayne, one dead mouse, strawberry ideas, the ways we play

This play has sucked up all my creative juices. It’s also sucked up lots of my waking hours and a bunch of my sleeping ones, too. I am no longer writing or cooking or even thinking about those things.

It’s not that I don’t have time to write, because I do, but my energy levels are low. It’s like I’m in hibernation, just drifting through the day, half-heartedly maintaining the household, hoarding all my energy so I’ll have enough to make it through the practices.

Also, I never realized how much of the writing process happens before I ever type out a single word. All those hours that I’m flitting about doing my predictable stuff, I’m pondering, musing, thinking. Then when I have a free hour to write, I can put out, bam.

I never even knew that’s what was going on with my head.

But now with five hours of my day spent in rehearsals, I’ve lost all that routine thinking time. My mind is fully absorbed. In fact, I have trouble carrying on a regular conversation and slip into running my lines at the drop of the hat. Example: when Nickel asked me a question during Sunday’s church service, I stared at him blankly, busily lost in working out a scene in my head, until my husband elbow-jabbed me and hissed, “Answer him!”

The other reason I’m not writing is because being in a play is too new. I need time to process my experiences into a shareable format. If I were to write about it now, there would be far too much angst.

I’m taking notes, though. You will (eventually) get the behind-the-scenes rundown. Promise.

P.S. I talked a little about the play (and biscuits) in the latest Kitchen Chronicles.

This same time, years previous: savoring Saturday’s sun, through my daughter’s eyes, Ranch dressing