Yesterday, I asked my friend Erin if she was free for lunch. I was in an area where she sometimes works, and I thought it would be nice to get together for a meal beyond the confines of the show. Sadly, she wasn’t available, but she mentioned that she was going through theatre withdrawal. And… yeah.
Me too.
Tonight will be the first Friday in a month that I haven’t been doing the show. I’m tempted to pop in the video and just watch it, just to make the transition out easier. But that’s really just a pale comparison. None of the people, none of the energy, none of the fun of actually doing it, just the finished product. Earlier in the week, I mentioned my feelings about it to some friends and compared it to how a lot of us feel the Monday or Tuesday after a science fiction convention. There was all of this stuff–people, energy, events–and when it goes away, there’s a weird sort of hole there. Because it’s not necessarily something you want to do, or could do on a constant basis, but it makes its own space in your life, and when it’s gone… there’s something missing.
Now, as my wife pointed out last night, it’s not as though I’ll have to wait a year for it again, like generally happens with the conventions. By the beginning of May I’ll be backstage, at least, on the next show, and trying out for the one following that in June or July. But it’s going to be a bit of a lull until then. And this is only my first outing, as I’ve said, in a long time away from the theatre. It’ll be nice to maybe start to work into a regular rhythm, activity and rest, that will ultimately help smooth over the immediate post-show letdown.
And even if it doesn’t, I’d rather do the shows and deal with the letdown than never do the shows at all.