Opening Night

There's nothing like the thrill you get a few hours before you are about to perform.

You think, "Why am I a ball of nerves NOW?  It's too early.  Ridiculous."  And you stuff it down, deep inside, where it can gallivant with the other butterflies, who are stressing you out with their ever-present fluttery questions, such as:

"Did you remember to pack your leggings for the ballet dance?"
"Are you going to forget to bring your black skirts?"
"Is your face going to be so horribly broken out that concealer will not even BEGIN to do its job?"
"What are you going to eat that won't upset your stomach?  If you don't eat, it'll be worse!"
"Are you going to forget to take off ALL your jewelry?"

And so forth.

I am now an hour away from being backstage, putting on my makeup, slipping into my dress, making sure all my props are in the right places (two hats and a tee shirt) and delving into the third Dresden Files book to keep my nerves from jangling too much.

I am two hours away from hearing people come inside and take their seats, two hours away from being stuffed in the Green Room to await the director's pep talk.

Two and a half hours away from our first performance.

And once I step onto that old, wooden stage floor, I'll be in another world.