Thursday, February 07, 2008

After The Show

It’s amazing how a performance lifts you out of real life. The past two days have been nothing but a blur of rehearsal, preparation, and brief intervals of classes that I barely even remember. There’s always a sort of wistful feeling when a performance is over—even a minor performance, like the one I just completed.

Getting ready, right before the show, is incredibly nerve-wracking but simultaneously exhilarating. I prep, I practice, I primp, until everything is as right as I can make it in the short time I have left. Costume is essential: whisked out of my typical denim skirt/solid top ensemble, my new outfit defines me, transmitting vibes of a different persona, the person I will become on stage.

Performing itself is, for me, like an out of body experience. I hardly know I’m there as it’s going on; it isn’t me in control; I’m only half-conscious; and then BAM, it’s all over—all the hard work, the hours, the energy: gone.

Then there are the regrets: I was so much better during the rehearsals—I didn’t come off as well as I should have—if only I could do it again!

Then the rush of watching the rest of the show, my amazing fellow performers; then, after the show, enjoying (and evading) congratulations from friends, and trying to discourage well-intentioned audience members offering overenthusiastic praise that I don’t really deserve.

I always hang around until the very end, lingering at the performance venue until everyone is gone and the disassembling and clean-up is nearly complete. I hate that part, the ending: going back to my dorm room, on a high with nowhere to go, no way to channel the remaining energy.

So here I am. There’s no way I’m getting any schoolwork done tonight. Tomorrow I’ll confront real life again, but tonight, I’ll admire my leftover makeup and dream about glamour now past.