Monday, September 24, 2012

productive, cozy, and a happy sort of blah.

The world is sorrowful. The world needs laughter. Harry is funny. The world needs Harry. Harry will make the world laugh. 
--William Sharyoan, The Time of Our Lives

 Goodness me.
So I had a test this morning.
And I made it there and back again, through no merit of my own.
My glorious roommate woke me up at ten til eight, since both my alarms failed to go off. One of the best sensations is waking up and feeling a laugh overtake your beings right away. One of the least pleasant feelings to wake up to is the cold hand of dread squeezing the warmth out of your heart.
Rommie whisked me off the ground where I'd fallen asleep (the concept of sleeping in beds has become a foreign idea to me. Ah, the small indignities of college.), and prayed to St. Joseph of Cupertino with me.
I ran to the test. And by ran I just mean power walked while reviewing my Bible passages manically. Who was Zebulun's mother??? Bilhah?? Zilpah?? Who??
And then I got to the test and sat down.

The two questions (there were only two questions. Oh God, beyond all praising, thank you.) were questions that had intrigued me and that were close to my heart, that I'd prayed over and thought over.
I was not going to be called upon to recite all the twelve sons of Israel and their respective mothers or the describe the Temple.
Blessing the name of St. Joseph, and thanking the Lord for the salvific act of my rommie, I began the test with a much more joyful heart. Cold hands of dread, begone.


Like my rommie, there are people who just burst like rays of grace and light into our lives.
There is one dynamic slip of a boy who always makes me smile. He is possesses the unique, enthralling charm of the openly, utterly genuine person. He is glorious in his simple himself-ness.

We had rehearsal yesterday, which was a good rehearsal and all, but it's tech week.
Tech week means five things: stress, stress, tension, stress, and stress. It's just pressure on top of pressure on top of pressure. Inevitably, at the beginning of tech week, one wants to scream or throw things, or cry out imprecations at everyone in the room, or burst into tears at the overwhelming incompetence of humanity.
Caught in the web of tech-induced stress, I was passive-aggressively typing on my computer in a corner of the theatre. then this boy comes up to me, and shares a story with me. A story that asks a question this play answers.
So I told him the answer the play gives. And he smiles and says: thank you, gives me many compliments I do not deserve in his endearing Venezuelan accent, and a warm hug.
As my heart melts as rapidly as butter in a microwave, I realize that even if there is never a latch on that one door, or if that one light cue is off, or if the sound levels are never adjusted perfectly, the story is still being told.
Theatre at it's heart is not about smoke and mirrors, it's the story.

How blessed I am to have gems such as these friends in my own story.

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