It’s only a book that tempts me
to ignore the dishes in the sink, the laundry in the basket, the litterbox,
the papers waiting to be graded.
It’s only a book that tempts me
to stay up and read the last half (when it’s already midnight)
and I have to go to work tomorrow.
It’s only a book, and when I read it, I hear nothing, am aware of nothing else in the universe, including
alarm clocks, phone calls, microwave timer buzzers, the purring cat in my lap who
prickles my leg as she makes bread against my thigh.
It’s only a book that calls me
into another’s life, another world, another reality, another experience of someone else’s imagination.
It’s only a book. I’m hooked.
I have garnered the lead female role in a play, the Thirty Nine Steps. Actually, I play three different females in this play, all of whom interact with the male romantic lead. Who just happens to be my husband in real life. I get to kiss him onstage. More than once. In public. With an audience. Woo-hoo.
There are a lot of lines to learn. In a fairly short period of time. This is exciting, and scary, all at the same time. I am having performance anxiety issues, here, and I haven’t even performed yet. Worrying about things that may never happen. I’m pretty good at that, actually…..darn it.
I will choose to re-direct that snotty little voice in my head, and tell it that I will be wonderful, rave reviews, fantastically good time had by all (including me). I will not listen to internal negative thoughts of forgetting lines, or tripping onstage, or having wardrobe issues – I will have a great time in three accents: German, Scottish and plummy British. And I will kiss my husband, leading man, with gusto and fervor. Woo-hoo!
Too many people live in this body
all of them with different temperaments,
different interests, different desires, different idioms.
Several of them sound nothing like the others
and there are a few I don’t like.
Some of them I’d like to stop and stay forever.
I am learning how to tempt those to hang around,
because I like them the best.
Hubs and I went (for the second time) to audition for a local community theater production. What play? Does that matter? Hmmmm……
It was the second time because we had word of the date and time of the scheduled auditions, and went on Tuesday – to find a dark theater, with no humans in sight. So, we called to verify that things had not been called off or rescheduled, or we just made a mistake, and when we finally got a call back, the director made a special effort to include us and told us we could come privately and deliver our minute monologue (and fill out contact paperwork). So we went.
My monologue is about being a schoolteacher in January. Since I got some laughs, I will reproduce it here for you to judge for yourself:
NINE MORE DAYS. It is NINE more days until the end of January – and January has THIRTY-ONE DAYS. Normally, getting to the end of the month is not an issue, even though I am a schoolteacher who gets paid only once a month, on the last working day of the month. But January is a special case, and has been a special case for every one of the twenty-six years that I have been a schoolteacher. You’d think after all that experience, it would get easier, but NO. I actually think is gets exponentially more difficult with added experience.
See – the last paycheck came at the end of teaching in December – about the middle of the month. Then there was Christmas – a money-sucking time if ever there was one, and THEN, there is New Year’s – ditto. And those happen in the first two weeks. After that, there are four weeks – thirty-one days – of sheer endurance.
We are talking peanut butter and crackers, searching in the couch cushions and under the car seats for loose change to buy gas….that sort of thing. It would be different if there was a way to earn extra money, but unfortunately, nobody, but nobody wants to see me naked, so it just isn’t happening. *sigh*
My new hubs (still bright and shiny after six months) and I are in a community theater play tonight and tomorrow night. It is a reader’s theater, which means we cheat and don’t actually memorize our lines, we read them, in full costume, instead. Sort of like beginner’s theater, or theater for us forgetful old folks.
I like the opportunity to participate in something fun with others who are like-minded. It’s why I like to visit new countries as part of a tour group: you get the experience of not only the location, but the group as well. Usually, being part of the group makes the experience more fun, and it is nice when in a new place to know if something happens, you are not alone to have to deal with it. Plus, expensive surprises are usually absent, too – a real bonus of traveling with a group.
This play is a committee meeting: a group of church ladies planning a church function. Except that I am the only actual lady – the other ‘ladies’ are all men, and every single one has a beard, goatee, or at least a mustache. I will fit right in……..
Every day, I hope.
I hope it will get better, that it won’t hurt so much.
I hope that I will be able to slow down and not be at everyone else’s beck and call.
I hope that I can say no. And mean it.
I hope that I can sleep until I want to get out of bed, instead of rolling out every morning before dawn because I have obligations to meet.
I hope that I make it through the next six weeks of no-money until I get paid again (a yearly problem, and January has thirty-one long, cold, and dark days).
I hope that Christmas will again just pass, without requiring from me efforts to be social that I just do not have the resources for.
I hope and I am chagrined that I still hope.
I hope that the house I currently am spending all my free time remodeling (paint smears in my hair and decorating both my forearms, random punctures, scratches, and broken nails) soon will become a respite and sanctuary – a place of peace and repose.
I hope that it will get better – that it won’t hurt quite so much.
I hope, even when it appears fruitless to hope.
On some other day, I will listen to your frustrations with a sympathetic ear, but not now.
Later, I will hold your hand and weep with you, and then laugh that our problems seemed so important, but not now.
Tomorrow, I will start fresh and try again, but not now.
I will grieve for now.
I will remind myself that I am not divine, but sadly human, now on this day.
It will be better, and we will rejoice together again.
But not now.