Dying

I wish I had rehearsal more days of the week. Because everytime we dance or sing or both, I have this wild, insatiable urge to dance myself until I literally am red in the face, unable to breathe, and I collapse against the wooden stage apron and everything goes black.

It doesn't happen, of course, but it's that ability to release, to be wild, to move and try to throw the very essence of my being out through my fingertips. I can't explain what it feels like. But I'm trying to make it contagious. There was a time I didn't feel this way - I want to share it, to let the timid ones and the inexperienced ones have it too, to force them to feel that need to fly apart and nearly kill themselves with what they do. I want to make up for all the shows I feel like I never gave it my all, never did enough. I still feel like I'm not doing enough.

Irene Leagan. Eileen Reagan. Say that five times fast.

I had this idea that when I did my massive Sunshine solo for the first time in front of most of the cast that it would be epic and impressive and shock most of them. It could have, easily, but I wound up losing control and being so entirely winded that I just stopped and waved the pianist on, unable to keep singing. I wanted to impress everyone so bad, to prove I deserved what I got, but all I did was prove I'm out of shape, haha. But for some reason I wasn't mortified like I thought I'd be. I wasn't completely embarrassed. I'm not sure why. They'll hear it eventually. I'll rock it some other time.

There's no time in the world like a summer speeding away. I love it and hate it and can't figure it out. It's beautiful, is what it is.