My gear is packed. Got my shoes. My costumes are hanging on a nail behind my desk with my T-squares and rulers. Several coworkers came by to peak under the plastic. Blue velvet. Very nice. Nervous?
Dress rehearsal is tonight.
We had tech and blocking last night. Our first time and only time fitting our routines on to the stage. One piece went well enough. The other is a disaster waiting to happen. Nothing much to be done about that now. Waiting.
Nervous?
What is this fright factor? What takes us from I-hope-I-don't-screw-up to I-hope-I-don't-vomit-pee-or-pass-out-on-stage? I think it's a herding instinct. Some derelict remnant impulse that tells us to blend into the crowd. Don't distinguish yourself. The predators will see you. Mingle. Be one with the herd. Don't step out onto the stage in the bright lights where the velociraptors can see you.
My friend Jenny and I are in both ballet pieces together. We're partners in the waltz piece. From opposing wings, we stare at each other across the stage, listening for our musical cue to emerge. Waiting. We smile at each other. Reassuring smiles. We're both scared to death. I wonder, will I be able to see her tonight when the lights backstage are out?
Nervous?
Jenny is on the Yolo Crow editing staff. I gave her a stack of submissions to read. One of my own stories was in the stack. Anonymous with the others. She says she read one paragraph before she figured out it was mine. "This character has the same complexes you have, she talks to her mother just like you do, and the Father calls her bug." I told Jenny we spend too much time together. Of course there is no such thing really.
The dresses are still hanging on the nail behind my desk. I'm looking at the rind of the grapefruit I just ate, wondering if that was such a hot idea. The clock is ticking. Dress rehearsal approaching. Velociraptors waiting.
Nervous?
Just a little.