I am horrifically involved with theatre at the moment, hence my prolonged silence. During the day, I usually read plays, practice monologues, and now I’ll have the added task of preparing adequately to be Princess Buttercup in a play version of The Princess Bride (I am equally excited and terrified. You can lecture me all you want on how illogical it is to be scared of receiving a role that is more fun than anything I have ever played. You will be right and I will still be wrong.) In the evenings, beginning at the glorious hour of 5:45 pm, I am whipped into a regular Gilded Age flirt, beauty marks and all, to waltz, complain about my toe, babble about cooks and bad handwriting, and whisper sweet nothings to Mercutio during the ball.
I feel as though I’m hibernating for most of my day since so often, I find myself diving into someone else’s thought processes, hopes, desires, and passions. I spend my days saying words that aren’t mine, loving people who aren’t there, and dreaming for things that aren’t an actual possibility. And while I am helplessly in love with the theatre, I would love to feel as though I am as engaged in my own life as I am with an audience before me.