Well, it’s been over for nearly two weeks. And minus my kids following me around the house before the show, crying that I was leaving them (again), and my 7YO predicting that I was going to pass out because I hadn’t eaten anything (which, in my defense, was impossible. My nerves were raw) everything about the night was a dream. The storytellers were fantastic, I didn’t blank on my lines, and the crowds were even better than the kind you hope for (plus they were sold out and even gave us a standing O after the second show).
But the neatest part for me was looking back and realizing that there were people there from every single stage of my life. From birth, to school, to work, to my neighborhood, to my daughters’ schools, to this blog, someone was there cheering me on. There are no words for the gratitude and love I felt that night as I drifted off to sleep, ears ringing and a little drunk from the after-party.
And so now it’s over.
Which is strange because after months of prepping, rehearsing, and talking to walls (don’t judge), it was kind of like pulling off a fake nail and still feeling the pressure of it on your nailbed. (What’s that? Only me? Whatever. You know I’m from Jersey. Back off.) And I’ll admit it, it’s kind of a letdown. The kind of letdown that lends itself to a Top 10, because it’s also kind of embarrassing to sense yourself engaging in certain activities to try and prolong it, even though it’s already over. Yet…you do it anyway. Or who knows, maybe it’s just me.
The Top 10 Signs of Post-Show Letdown
10.) The relief you were expecting to feel as you bowed to the applause of a sold out crowd doesn’t surface. Instead, the feeling spreading through your gut is more reminiscent of childhood ice-cream-in-the-dirt sadness. You trudge back to the dressing room s-l-o-w-l-y, taking comfort in the fact that your wonderful friend made you so many cookies that if six fall in the dirt, you’ll still have six more to binge on.
9.) You still automatically run lines the moment you step into the shower, or wander into a quiet part of the house.
8.) You make your family drive back to the theatre with you the next day so you can take photos of the marquee. You immediately post it to every corner of your blog and Facebook, clicking back to check every few minutes for comments and “likes.”
7.) You spend the next few days casually seeking out every friend who was at the show, hoping they’ll bring up how much they enjoyed the evening, and/or every detail about your stellar performance. You prompt them when necessary, justifying that it’s not vanity; it’s what friends are for.
6.) You find that the heavy-duty guilt your children dumped on you because rehearsals kept you from showing them “enough love” has been transferred into guilt because it’s raining out. Or guilt because they have to go to school. Or guilt because they didn’t have enough dessert. They duped you with nothing more than all-purpose guilt because they sensed you enjoying something other than them. Sucker.
Read the rest of my embarrassing admissions at the —> SpeakeasyDC blog
And one last shout-out to the awesome sponsors of Bad Mommy Moments: A Storytelling Playdate for Moms
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