Wooooo, I’m up so early! Like some kind of normal human! This…will probably not be a regular thing.
So, I live in the woods again. Last this blog had heard, I was about to start rehearsals for Gypsy in Sonora. That show happened (with a terrifying interlude brought to you by extreme laryngitis), then I visited Manhattan, then I visited L.A., then I visited LONDON ENGLAND OMG I AM MOVING THERE SOMEDAY FOR REAL. Then! I got asked back to Sonora for another ten weeks to do Carousel, which turned into a magical, fun-filled summer consisting of many shenanigans with the best cast ever, a jaunt to Disneyland with my fella and his family, and an impromptu staged-reading of Drood that has officially become my favorite theatre-related memory of all time. Aaaaaand then I went home and resigned myself to school and pit-singing for A Chorus Line, until Sonora called once again and coerced me into coming back for the rest of the year for Cinderella. Which brings us up to speed!
I dig it up here. Like, to an alarming extent. It didn’t hit me how much I’d acclimated to small-town living until I popped back home during Carousel to pick up some supplies from Sephora, and I started getting all stressed out just walking down Burlingame Avenue. Burlingame Avenue. That’s hardly some bustling metropolitan thoroughfare. And yet my brain was all, “gaaaaah why are there so many peeeeeeopllllllle and so many caaaaars and so few deeeeeeeer” like I was some elderly midwestern farmer from the 1800s seeing paved streets and three-story buildings for the first time. There have definitely been some significant moments during my woodland tenure when I’ve pondered making a permanent move.
But then I’ll open my front door to discover that a mass of furry hulked-out demon scarabs spawned from the yawning maw of Hell itself have all converged on my doorstep in the night to commit ritual suicide, and I’m like, “LOL, NOPE.”