I've been thinking a lot lately of my days in the theatre.
My days in the the-a-tuh, actually, because if I can't be grand and affected about treading the boards, what on earth can I be grand and affected about?
At any rate, I did do a few years of auditioning for big parts and small, and did a few seasons with a reasonably good amateur theatre, and backbackwayback, scads of high school stuff that I don't like to think about because it makes me cringe in memory. Once I finished high school, I even persuaded an agent to take me on, and had head shots done (horrid), and felt very professional indeed.
I didn't get any real jobs of course, because nature has not graced me with silver screen looks, or even dish soap shilling looks, and at 19, I still had scruples about sleeping with directors.
(This is the part where I tell you I'm kidding.)
Still, the stage was fun - even for free - and where I belonged, anyway. On the stage, I could be beautiful, or ancient, or a sexpot, or - and this was the best part of all - I could be funny. Oh, I could be hilarious, and honestly, is there anything better than making the right face on the right cue and having a whole audience chuckle because you got it right?
Sometimes I think about going back, about doing some community stuff, maybe having a stab at addressing my attention-craving issues. Once upon a time, I prided myself on a modicum of talent; though I'm of the belief that acting talent is a muscle; if you don't use it, you lose it. Added to what is probably a serious dearth of talent, my hearing is certainly not as good as it used to be so that cues would be a problem, and do I really want to commit myself to rehearsals and ill-fitting costumes and trying to cheat my arse so that it doesn't block out a co-star...
Oh, but the high! The high, indeed. It comes from forgetting who you are, and convincing an audience to forget it, too. It comes from laughter and tears and applause. It comes from a really live audience, and a really tight cast and a really good night. I miss it, that high, and used to dread closing night because the morning after would bring a low that had nothing to do with a cast-party hangover.
Perhaps there is further thought needed here.
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