The Home Stretch

"I'm as calm as a fruit stand in New York, and maybe as strange."

"Bride" opened Sunday to overwhelmingly positive feedback. Final scenes will wrap up tomorrow morning. The fam flies in for the closing night/mother's day/graduation extravaganza tomorrow afternoon. I'm in my bed crying over the conclusion of second year. We have entered the home stretch.

The year seems to be ending with just as much emotion and fervor as it began.

The play. The play. Oh, God, the play. It's good. Really. I'm surprised and flattered and floored by the responses I've been getting from the last few performances. It hasn't even felt quite real to me yet. It will tomorrow. It will feel real when my parents and my brother are sitting in that audience seeing what it is that I've been doing all these years. Not since Summer and Smoke have I been so thrilled to have them see something I've done. It's really me up there. It's me, pouring all that I am and all that I have into a role that I still can't completely believe they handed to me. The playwright came to the show last night. He was very impressed with our work, and talked to us for a long stretch of time about how well we had done. He said, "and Grace. Grace. Well, your work was fantastic. You really got this character. The play is on Grace's shoulders. If you don't have a Grace that gets it, you don't have a play. You've done so well with her." Wow. Thank you. I am loving this play. I am loving playing this part. I am going to be sad to put it to bed come friday. Very sad indeed.

The first year has come of age with the completion of their final scenes. C-group will wrap up tomorrow. And that's that. I'm more nervous for them to get asked back than I was for myself. I suppose because I sort of KNEW in my heart that I would be back. I have grown close to so many of them, and I want the best for them all. But, I have no idea how they're going to do when those infamous letters hit the mailbox. I haven't seen their work. There are some that I can tell instinctively will be fine, like the boy, but others are not so cut and dry. I just hope for the best, and hope that they've had as enlightening and life-changing a year as I did when I was a first year.

I can't think about this anymore, this ending thing. I can't write about it anymore. I hate to be any more dramatic than I already am, but to be perfectly honest, I feel like my heart is breaking. Is that completly ridiculous or completely understandable? It hurts. God in heaven, does it hurt. I just wish I knew how to make it stop.