…Smile

1. Rumour has it… It’s 22 degrees today and word on Meteorology Street is Sydney’s in for an early and warm spring. I’ll hug the sun itself* if this is true.

2. The trouble with fun of being myself. Pretty much everything I do these days – from learning to working to socialising to interwebz – feels a little bit like a genuine celebration of unapologetic absurdity. It makes me feel warm and fuzzy to be a happy dork.

3. My peeps. Y’all make it worthwhile. Fo’ realz.

*I keep hearing about “the power of metaphor” in writing. Well, this one is so strong it burns.

…Things I already miss from [title of show]

1. Ch-ch-check 1, 2. This was my favourite part of the night (show-schmo, audience-schmaudience!). Jess would give us a theme for our sound-check song choices, which was usually followed by: Blake’s soulful serenade, Lizzie’s kick-ass belt, Paul’s loungey croon, and Jay’s Christopher Walken. Yes, you read that correctly.

2. Part Of It All. Lizzie and I had lyric-literal routines for all three of the boys’ duets, which we’d perform backstage almost without exception.

3. Don’t go away, I’m needy! Normally I’m at least a little bit relieved when a show ends, even if it was a good one. Not this time. This time, I could have happily kept going till I was old enough to knit on the bus and truuuuuuuuuck! *sigh*

…Humble pie

1. Sydney Opera House. I called you a jerk when you are, in fact, awesome. I called you to task and you stepped up. I’m going to write you a nicey nice feedback letter of thanks. And maybe make you a mix-tape. You have two ears and a heart, right?

2. Time is never time at all. So I thought I’d be able to do all sorts of other things with my time before and during the run of [title of show]. In reality, outside theatre time, I’ve been able to eat, sleep and occasionally wash things.

3. Promises, promises. I pledged not to whinge about the cold this winter. Yeah, about that…

…Taser temptation

1. Driven to the edge.  With some of the attitude I got in the US, I can understand someone being driven to do this.

2. Chestnuts roasting on an open fire.  Aside from its clear social benefits, I’d like a taser so I could toast marshmallows anytime, anywhere.  Just remind me not to use a metal skewer.

3. There’s nothing a taser won’t fix.  Except maybe a broken contact lens.

…Battle scars

1. Heads. I have a scar on my top lip from when I was 2 years old. I was, conveniently enough, in the doctor’s surgery waiting room. I had a dummy in my mouth when another, older, taller kid came along and hugged me. Awww. Except the dummy’s plastic edge cut into my top lip. Imagine my mother’s delight at holding me down while the doctor did stitches. I screamed the place down and bled everywhere – including down the front of Mum’s white top. When it was done, I imagine the relief for mother and doctor would’ve been amazing. Amazing but brief. I wiped my mouth and managed to pull the stitches out. I deserve this scar, man.

2. Shoulders. I have a scar on my shoulder from the time I ran a little too close to a protruding nail in a very old, very dusty theatre. Oh fffff…iddle-dee-dee, that will require a tetanus shot.

3. Knees and… Hands. I stabbed my hand on a twig while downhill skateboarding (granted, there were three of us on it at the time) and still have the scar. I also had one of those big serated metal toilet paper dispensers fall off the wall and gash my left hand. It’s great that that’s the most prominent scar on my hands too – not at all embarrassing to explain. I accumulate wildly random scars on my hands, which makes me wonder if I should be allowed to leave the house – or even my couch – without gardening gloves on.