I never published this.  It was written at the end of the last run of the show that is about to go up again.  What is fascinating to me is that this particular dragon hasn’t been slayed.

Things are very difficult in my family right now…when I screw up the courage to share, I will.  For now —

WHENEVER THIS DRAGON SHOWS UP, I NEED TO SLAY IT BY FOCUSING ON OTHERS.  THAT’S THE GOOD THING ABOUT HAVING KIDS.  ALSO A SOCIAL CONSCIENCE.

I tend to get my English teacher on at the end of a show…analysis, synthesis, looking for meaning behind every gesture, word, feeling.  That gets exhausting.  One of my goals is to just stop doing that.

That goal is tested a lot, though.  Our directors are nostalgic today.  They are proud of their work.  They’ve put a lot of time, sweat, and talent into this show.  They are spending a lot of time praising the cast.  Nothing about the band, the tech people, or the rest of us on the production staff. 

Cast FB updates have been MASH notes to one another. 

I’ve been in the middle of a flurry of emails among the cast who are desperately trying to raise funds for gifts for the directors.  I am so pleased that the show has inspired this level of admiration, if not love, for the directors.  It is Good.  I learned a lot about directing and what I do and do not want to see happen with my own production.  I am happy that in a business that quickly embitters so many young people, these directors brought out the joy buried in even the most cynical of the cast.  It gives me hope. 

On the other (selfish!) hand, it is awkward to be getting these emails.  I am not cast.  I am production staff.  I do not think I should be contributing to cast gifts.  I don’t know where I fit in, really.

On the third, mutant (and super-selfish) hand, I feel overlooked.  I don’t want a gift.  That would feel equally awkward.  I guess a “She was Here!  She didn’t Suck” kinda card or acknowledgement or hug or cookie would feed my soul.

Which makes me feel like a tool.  A selfish tool.  I need to amputate that hand.  A good, hot shower will help.  I need to celebrate this cast, the band, the production staff.  Perhaps my job is to join in with the directors in lauding all the people who worked hard on this show.  Heh.  Go figure…me taking something personally for absolutely no good reason.

This comes a day after I read a blog written by a theater person who I respect and would love to work with,who spoke of feeling overlooked, and how we are ashamed to feel bad about this.  It’s that ego/better nature battle I blogged about last week.  We want to be recognized for all that we are, or, barring that, for all we show to the world. We can’t expect people to see our potential, but we do want the trail of footsteps we stomp into the Earth to be at least smiled at every once in awhile.

His blog wasn’t about theater, specifically, but overlooked is the appropriate word for how I feel.  And that’s ridiculous. 

I will treat myself tomorrow.  I did something nearly impossible (for me).  I struggled.  I battled my demons.  I uttered holy yesses all over the place. 

For some reason I have yet to analyze, this show has been some sort of professional adolescence, complete with crying jags and needs to belt along to Morrissey (I never really went through an angsty teen thing, so I’m 20 years overdue). 

Yes, I realize I seem to be viewing my life through a Gail Sheehy lens.  Passages.  It’s all passages.

It’s hard to share what feel like ugly feelings here on this blog.  I seem so negative and dark and disgruntled.  I’m actually quite gruntled, thank you! 

It’s a good place to admit to the dragons that guard the magnificent artist within.

I cannot be alone in this.

I may be whinier than most, though.

A sensitive artist.  What a concept.