FB is only just beginning to import all of my previous blog entries in as notes; so now it looks like I've had a long dry spell and have suddenly decided to bubble over in an explosion of wordisms.
For the record, I am still normal, and am not bipolar.
Today was spent tech-running; and then we hung around onstage after everyone else had left school, at night.
Jerry Winterton lay down on the front proscenium and promptly declared he wanted "to live here". Hashisha started doing her "black chick" beatboxing impressions. Avis pirouetted. George was Michael Jacksoning around with a lampstand like it was a microphone. Jacko and I launched into various offkey renditions of Chicago! and I spun around on the table pretending to be Velma Kelly.
...I love this art.
I love it, I love it, I Love it.
It shines from my eyes like floodlights; my lungs strain with it; I leave my dirty knees and pitiful cobbled-together heart in the wings when I come and I leave wholly restored, full, perfect.
God saved my soul.
The theatre birthed it.
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