The End of Term Four, part III

I can't remember if we stuck around to rehearse that evening after discovering we had not two, but five days left to prepare for our final presentation or not. I have the feeling that we probably did. And over the course of the next couple of days, my schedule went a little something like this: wake up late, rush to work; work at my desk job for four hours; rush to school; be at school for about eight hours, rehearsing or presenting and being critiqued; go home, go to bed, do it all over again. The good news was that in those last couple of days, our group started to find devices that worked, characters that were fun to play, interactions that we enjoyed. It still wasn't perfect - it was still far from perfect - but things were starting to congeal. On Friday, we managed to present a piece for the teachers that was still far from fantastic, but was definitely the bones of something, and took risks, and was starting to feel like a piece. Finally, after weeks and weeks of treading water and swimming against the current, it felt as though maybe our toes were starting to touch the earth beneath.

But we weren't out of the woods yet - we still had two days to go, and I woke up Saturday morning exhausted, even though I'd slept for hours. Though I was supposed to work that night at the Comedy Club and desperately needed the money, I'd called in to cancel because that evening was one of the only times everyone in the group was free to rehearse. We were all meeting at 6, but I had to be at the school at 3 - my *other* job (yes, I have three) is working for the school as Space Caretaker, meaning that when there aren't any teachers in the building, I'm responsible for locking up and making sure noone dies. In a way, this is a really sweet deal because it means that I often get paid for rehearsal hours that I would've had to be at school anyway. This particular week, though, when I'd already been at school so much under such stressful circumstances, it was getting pretty painful to spend more time there than I had to. Sure enough, when I walked into the space, it was like the walls closed in. All of a sudden I felt anxious and upset, and if I'd had hackles they would have been raised. I can't breathe in here, I thought, and went to sit outside.

I spent the next three hours until rehearsal sitting just outside the door to the school, on the ground, crying, or staring empty and glassy-eyed at nothing. I was just so done. I don't think I'd realised how much the week and the creation had taken out of me, but I hit rock bottom that afternoon, as much as I ever have at the school. I just felt that I'd been putting so much energy into the piece, trying to come up with ideas, trying to move us forward, trying to mediate between members (apparently sometimes when no mediation was needed), and that I no longer had anything to give. It was a terrible, desperate, despondent feeling to have, that I was just empty, that there was nothing left.

to be continued AGAIN!