The question I get the most when shows end is if I miss them.
The answer is, no.
Of course, I would like to dress up in 18th-century finery every single day, and have long curly hair that hits me mid-back and is exquisitely styled atop my head, and I like to go to balls, because they're beautiful, but today I am happy to sit here at work being a little dull with my hair in a ponytail. I will miss the little girls looking wide-eyed at me after the show, touching my dress. I already miss the people I shared a dressing room and eyelash glue with. But dullness, I think, facilitates more creativity for me. There's time to think about lint and piles and the piles of paper on my desk and the way things sit. I embrace dullness this week, normalcy, cereal in the morning. Life will return to normal little by little over the next few days. There will suddenly be all this time in which to really focus on things instead of skimming them between scenes.
getting down with our maid selves, dress rehearsals
Last week I had my first real onstage blunder. During a garden-related scene filled with topiaries and tea cookies, I played the part of a maid. There were three of us maids, me, Misha, and Melissa, bopping about in our green calico dresses and white aprons. We were on and off the stage, back and forth, laughing and listening to the gossip being shared by housemates. The south side of the little theater we performed in has three exit/entrances, one in the middle and two on either side. The middle entrance is ground level, and the two side doors are up five stairs apiece. As we made our beribonned exit up the southwest stairs for the last time in the scene, I did what I have had the goal not to do for the last four months, which is to misjudge the height of the step in front of me and trip in my giant pilgrim-buckled shoes. For 55 performances, in pitch blackness and high-heeled shoes, I never tripped. But then I did.
I tripped, mid-giggle, and fell a short distance onto my forearms and elbows. Curls flying, white hair ribbons flapping, yards and yards of fabric, thunk. As I landed, my shins smacked the step below me, unfortunately un-padded by the voluminous petticoat I was wearing. I plopped to the ground with my face inches in front of the red exit curtain, and somehow, thinking quickly, using my first logic, I decided that it would be quicker to simply crawl off the stage and draw less attention to myself than standing back up and exiting like a human. So, gigantic green calico backside in tow, I proceeded to slither immediately offstage, under the curtain, and tumble down the stairs on the other side of the curtain, face to the blue plaid carpet.
This is ponytailed, purple-shinned Julie, signing out to dullness for a while.
ADDENDUM: Meagan M. Downey is the greatest stage manager and dancer of all humans.