230

It's been 230 days since I last heard your voice. Today, just before I picked up the phone, I tried to remember what it sounded like, and I honestly couldn't remember. I was so concerned that I wouldn't recognize it when I heard it.

I'm so phobic of talking on the phone for some reason, and it took so long to finally dial that number. Sorry, I was shaking a little, and I just wanted to pass the phone along to my parents as quick as possible. Now I wish I had stayed and talked...

But there were a few seconds where I could hear your voice again, and it made me so happy. I miss you so much :)

My Dream

You know, for the past few days, there's something I've thought about a lot (besides spring break!), and that is my idea of owning a theatre. I honestly can't shake the idea of having a place that I own, where I can do exactly what I want on my own terms.

There are people who want to be doctors, for example. They work so hard in school to have the training and certification to be able to call themselves doctors, and then they go out into the world, in an attempt to turn their passion into a career. Many of these doctors will go to work in a hospital or a clinic, or maybe go to another country and provide medical assistance there. There are also those who decide instead to start up their own practice, and to have an office with their name on the front door that they own themselves.

That's what I want. I want to pick a city or town, buy a plot of land, and literally start from scratch. I want to build a gigantic theatre that every touring production will want to visit, one with the greatest hand-picked crews, one with only the very best equipment, a theatre with a residence built right on the side where crew and performers can stay in comfort.

It would be a theatre where you never know what to expect. The entrance is at the top of a set of stairs, lit by classical streetlamps with big warm white christmas lights strung between them. You would arrive at the front entrance and be invited in by large polished brass doors. Immediately when you enter, there is a sense of warmth and belonging, and you are transported to a world where anything is possible.

Your ticket is carefully torn by a smiling usher, as you will want to keep the stub as a memento for years to come. In the lobby, people are generally milling about, though in no rush to get anywhere. Portraits and biographies of the cast and crew are hung on the walls, and guests are entertained by the humorous tidbits they find in each one, and the biographies are changed nearly every show so that even regular patrons have something new to look at. Plush chairs and couches are scattered throughout the lobby, and a few patrons decide to sit in them for a few minutes before the show begins.

The walls are various warm earth tones, but the floor and ceiling are a different matter. The floor is a beautiful ebony hardwood that has been meticulously polished, reflecting back the wide-eyed face of the young child who is entranced by his surroundings. The ceiling shimmers like millions of stars, and the ethereal swoop of the aurora borealis lightly dances among the stars. A delicate chandeliere hangs in the center of the lobby, casting a warm glow on the expectant audience.

At the appointed hour, a set of ushers begin their choreographed house opening procedure. 5 sets of magnificent oak doors are pulled open, and the lights inside the the theatre fade on, beckoning the audience to enter. More ushers, ready to help guests to their seats, stand smiling at their posts all the way down the hall. Feeling the pull of the theatre, the audience quiets to an awed whisper as they find their seats, looking all around them at the lofty ceiling, and the thick red curtains that conceal the show they are so looking forward to seeing.

Once the audience has been seated, and starting time has been reached, the house lights begin their practiced fade, and the energy in the theatre intensifies exponentially. The show has begun.


Backstage, actors have spent the past few hours preparing for yet another show, and are quietly waiting in the wings for their entrance. Video monitors are at various points where the actors congregate, allowing them to watch and listen for their entrance. They have practiced for months now, and know every cue and line by heart.

The tech crew is calmly awaiting their first cues that will come through their lightweight personal wireless headsets. A fly crew is ready and waiting on the 60 line-set fly rail, thinking through the actions they've done thousands of times already. The running crew are invisible as they stand against the wall in their blacks, listening to the usual pre-show headset chatter, and ensuring that all their props are in position. Their movements have been practiced day in and day out, and they never miss a change or a cue, and will never make a sound. The follow spot operators are flexing their fingers, ready for the lightning fast follows they'll have to do, and the quick changers are checking every stitch for the hundredth time, ensuring that no costume goes onstage torn.

The lighting booth is serene as the finger of the lighting op hovers over the GO button on a pristine ETC Congo, a list of cues meticulously programmed ready to go. They check the dimmer status module again, watching the temperatures as they hover right where they always do in the green. They reach into their filing cabinet and pull out a single Bernard Callebeaut chocolate that they silently savor.

The sound op brings up his first show cue, and the sliders silently jump to their programmed positions, anticipating all the levels they'll need to set in the coming hours. Carefully chosen house music moves the audience closer and closer to a musical climax in expectation of the performance, and the green indicator lights of wireless microphones flash excitedly, silently translating the excited words of actors further backstage.

The stage manager peers at yet another video feed, watching the man running from his taxi into the lobby, where ushers kindly then show him to his seat. An infrared camera shows that all the actors are in their places, and another in the orchestra pit confirms the same of the musicians. The SM gently presses the call button, which emits a gentle buzz that immediately stops all the headset conversations. Giving the maestro the cue, the orchestra tunes a third time, and the calls being.

Ready all cues
Orchestra begins
Light cue 4 Go
Fly cue 1 Go

The red drapes gently lift off from the stage, and to the awe of the audience, this staged world is suddenly reality.

Light cue 5 Go
Actors On
Sound cue 1 Ready

The play begins, actors enter and leave the stage, lights fade up and down, the audience laughs and cries, running crews sneak on and off, and this reality is suspended, held by the commitment of the performers and crew, and accepted by the awed audience.

At the end, the actors make their bows, followed by the technicians. A standing ovation continues for several minutes as the actors and crew bow repeatedly, beaming in happiness at the outstanding performance.

And when that is all over, the audience leaves, back through those oak doors, across the ebony floor, down the stairs, and into their cars, where they excitedly talk about the show they just saw.

The performers applaud one for another outstanding performance, put their costumes carefully away in the wardrobe room, and slowly make their way towards the backstage bar. Family and friends cheer when they see the actors and crew enter, and everyone takes a seat in the room, enjoying a drink to cool them down after the show. The conversations grow louder as time wears on, until the stage manager steps onto a raised platform, and the hubub quickly dies out. Notes are given en mass, and for 15 minutes everyone is completely focused on the notes the SM is giving. The microphone is then passed onto another member of the group, who gives a short speech of praise for a fellow actor/technician, and then awards them the trophy that passes between every person in the room at some time or another.

With all the official business finished, cast and crew begin to say goodnight and disperse to their dormitories, where they will be able to sleep comfortably in anticipation of another performance the next day.

Everyone is completely committed to the performance, and will do whatever it takes to make it totally amazing.

And with the theatre silent, the owner walks through his theatre, flipping up that one seat that didn't quite make it all the way up, putting away the roll of gaff someone mistakenly left out, and stands centre stage. Looking out at his theatre, he brings his watch up, checks the time, and at exactly 1AM, the lights fade out, leaving a single bright night light casting a faint glow on the entire theatre. He turns, walks offstage, says goodnight to the few runners still chatting outside the bar, rings the elevator, and pushes the button for his room. The elevator pulls him up to the top floor where he disembarks, and quietly gets changes for sleep.

Another day in the theatre.

Shoot me now. Please

I never wanted any of this.

The drama, the hurt feelings, and the anger.

I have no idea what I'm feeling right now, but I don't like it. I'm lying in bed, just trying to make sense of all the things going on, but I just can't. Everything is so jumbled, and it's so confusing.

I wanted it to be simple and easy, I didn't want to have to deal with this sort of thing. I found amazing friends, and I thought it would be great, but now I find that it comes at a cost.

I need a break from it all, and that's why I'm looking forward to this so much. I just want to have time when no one is going to bug me, when I can just be myself.

I don't know what I'm trying to tell you. Lately I have no idea what I'm thinking, or where I'm going, I just wander in circles until I bump into something that makes sense.

I want to hug someone, and feel their warmth, and just to cry with them and understand what all is going on.

I've been hurt so much by all of these things going on, and I don't even know who's to blame. I don't know what hurts.

I want to scream in frustration so much right now. I want to just sob until my eyes run dry. I'm such an emotional wreck right now.

I feel like I've lost everything.

I'm paranoid beyond belief.

I want everything to revolve around ME.

I need to understand why I'm still feeling this way.


I still haven't given up those feelings, and I wish I could. If you asked me today, in all seriousness, I think I'd say yes. I will never, ever ask. But there's that tiny part, the 0.001% error inside of me that hasn't given up yet, that's going to fight until the day I die. And it hurts, so much. Sharp, hot blades as you press them into my chest, surrounded by the anaesthetic of the other, gentle words. They still hurt, they still leave a mark.

I want this so badly, I'm dreaming of it day and night. It's what keeps me awake during the day, and when I'm trying to sleep. I've waited longer than anyone should ever have to wait, and now, at last, I seem to be on my way.

But what if my destination isn't what I'm expecting? I have no idea what I'm getting myself into, and it scares me.

And I'm scared that I'm just doing this for the feeling.

Am I going to be ok with the challenges, the time, the distance?

I am so messed up. I need to be hit over the head with a baseball bat, go into a coma for a day, and wake up refreshed and ready to do shows. But that's not going to happen. I'm going to struggle to finish each of these horribly long days, sleeping in classes and exhausting myself to the breaking point.

I'm stupid and I'm fucked.

I have no idea what I should do about all of this now. Tomorrow will probably be extremely awkward, and I'm not looking forward to it in the slightest. I honestly just want to be over and done with this show so we can all move on and get back to our lives. But no, that'd be too easy, wouldn't it!

Why do I find myself hating him? Like, complete and utter loathing?

Because I still can't shake that feeling. Of getting second place.

Of being REplaced.

I want to smash something again.

All those guys who went all postal at their schools? I think I can finally associate with them. It's this kind of untamed anger and frustration that is just so awful that you need to let it go.

And something needs to give.

A tiny bit escaped today, that tiny little rant about why things played out as they did.

Yes, the tiny rant. There's more where that came from. This is a part of it.

You know, I'm still really angry about a lot of things. Like why I still have no idea why certain things had to happen, when they happened. Or why I never get explanations, just apologies. Or how people assume that I just know everything, or that I don't want them around, or that they're being annoying.

Seriously, if I don't want you around, YOU'LL BE ABLE TO TELL.

I'm very good at hiding. I hide many things.

Lots of things.

I don't know what to say to any of you. I want to go into the back back room and bang my head repeatedly against the cement wall. I want to climb to the top of the pillar and jump down, and feel the stinging pain shoot up my legs from the impact. I want to hit my finger with a hammer, and feel that hot searing pain wash over my body. I want to know what a kiss feels like for once in my life. I want to be shocked by an electrical outlet and have the tingle in my arms. I want to have the wind knocked out of me and ache all over. I want to block out the entire world.

I shouldn't post any of this.

I'll be taken away to a mental institute for sure.

Hehe

I got a little pissed off at the person who created the group attacking a certain person who broke up with another certain person. I don't know the whole story, but I don't think anyone deserves to be called a 'bitch', especially if it's obvious that the people who made the group don't know the whole story either.

So I saw that the creator had left the group, leaving no admins, so I joined, then deleted the group. Ha!