Yesterday was difficult, and I would never have seen it coming. It was my first night of actual rehearsals (not read-through) kicking off my first week of being in rehearsals. A year ago this was something I was accustomed to doing. I was in a play more often than I was not.
This year my life is differently focused, and I've been very content, very happy, and very balanced. I haven't been stressed out enough to need my bite plate (for grinding my teeth at night) unless I've been sick, which hasn't been very often. Without any effort, my heart and my thoughts are with Forest and Kirstin. There isn't anything more important, or any place I'd rather be than with them. I'm comfortable, safe, secure, and loved. It's really been wonderful.
I hadn't realized how difficult it would be to leave the nest again. Adding theatre to my life again feels like opening the door to chaos. Mentally I was ready to go last night, but emotionally I felt like a baby bird about to try her wings. Before going to rehearse, I snuggled Forest a lot, and explained how wierd it felt, and cowered there for a few minutes, not quite ready to go. I'm afraid of coming all unbalanced again, afraid of losing that cozy, safe feeling by neglecting my part of it.
And I'm afraid of neglecting my sweety and Kirstin, and am very reluctant to spend so much time away from them.
Forest smiled, gently set me straight, and gave me a little nudge from the nest, and I flew off to rehearsal. I should know better than to worry. If Forest needed more from me, he'd ask. It's not possible for me to be unknowingly neglectful. He's my safety net, and I'm his. We don't let each other hurt each other if we can help it.
Once I got to rehearsal (after a long drive of thinking how much I love my sweety) everything was fine; I wrote down blocking, acted like a 5-year-old and a 50-year-old, and remembered that this was something I'm good at doing, and comfortable with. What was strange about it is that it didn't feel like starting a show usually does. It didn't slide into any sort of hole in my being, thus feeding a hunger I didn't know I had. I should have noticed the change at auditions. I didn't feel any great burning need to get cast, or the usual near-panic that I wouldn't. It didn't affect me emotionally one way or another.
It isn't something I *need* anymore. It was just something I'd chosen to do. I'm not relying on theatre to hold together my personal life, to give me purpose and meaning, to make me *someone* anymore. I think I'm glad of that. I like just being the real me much better.
Tonight I have another rehearsal, and again it's going to be difficult to go. Forest understands, and is happy to see me, snuggle me, and nudge me from the nest again. After the last rehearsal it was an incredible, cathartic relief to see him immediately afterward, to plug into that warmth, and know that my head and heart had stayed in the right places, not diverted by the craziness of a show. Today I'm much more confident that they never will be again. I belong to my sweety, my munchkin, and myself.
We played D&D last night, and it was nice to see everyone again, and thank heavens there wasn't a big pile of munchies on the table this time. I'm going to have to start bringing something else to do with my hands. Night-time after about 10 PM is munchy-time for me. At home it isn't a problem, because I'm usually on my way to bed, and at worst once in a while I'll grab a bowl of cereal. Gaming night, though, usually means sitting around a table stacked with munchies, with nothing better to do than munch them. Sometimes I'm even hungry when I get there, and make dinner for myself out of an apple, gummy savers and Little Debbies. I know, that's vile. I agree.
There was no word from Karen in Japan today. I hope everything is going okay. It's typhoon season over there, so I don't know if her internet connect is down or what. She's been emailing me daily until now. I'll not worry about Karen, though. She's travelled alone internationally many times before. She'll be fine.
I don't think I've ever seen my friend Deb more stressed out, though, than I did last night. She just put her daughter (another friend of mine) Emily on a plane for Ireland. Emily (age 19) will be gone for 4 and a half months; but only has a place to stay for the first 10 days. She plans to find a job and a place for herself during that time, and come back around Christmas. The idea is to show herself that she can do things on her own, that she doesn't need to rely on anyone but herself. She always struck me as a self-confident person before; but I guess this ought to prove it to her of nothing else does. I can't blame Deb for being a bit worried, though! Gosh. I don't think I would travel somewhere without knowing how I was going to eat and have a roof over my head, and I'd certainly be reluctant to let Kirstin do it in 10 years.
I have a strange set of memories from last night's gaming session; probably the result of being there after such an eye-opening evening of self-discovery. It was like seeing my old friends with new eyes.
I remember Tiff offering to help out with Kirstin's party, should I need her. I was on my way out the door, and she looked very serious about it. Tiff can be giggly, silly, funny, and so on, but she's serious when you need her to be.
I have this great mental picture of Shelly, who was happy, goofy, and made me laugh. She had just heard Yeffy make one wise crack or another, and was laughing at him. When Shelly laughs the whole room lightens. (Or groans, depending.)
I have another great one of Yeffy, who roleplayed an entire scene as a wine-o, slurring, lisping, and being very, very silly. In the mental photo he is makeing a really silly face, and half-laughing despite himself.
Last, I have an image of Forest, in profile, because I was sitting next to him, laughing so hard his eyes were closed.
My friends are great people, and lots of fun to be with. It's nice to take away such memories, however strange and disjointed they may be.
Something Shelly wrote this Monday made me think about the nature of friendship these days, and in fact, she's right; things are a lot different from ten years ago. It's nice to be among my friends and just enjoy their company, knowing that they have no desperate need of me, nor I for them. We all have our own lives which support us in fine order. Friends aren't the center of one's life like they used to be; friends are a great addition, an added joy. Don't get me wrong, they're still important, and I still love them, but I guess I've grown, and so have they. As I said before, it's nice that they all have stable lives and don't need to cry on the phone in the middle of the night like high school friends did.
