I went to see a show the other night with my friend W and it restored a lot of the goodness to my life.
The show, Eastland, was absolutely fantastic. It will sound as if I am exaggerating to say I wept for the last twenty minutes of it, but I did, big, uncontrollable shoulder-heaving sobbing right there in the second row. I couldn't hide and I couldn't stop. It's a folk musical, the music is unbearably lovely, and the story is about a 1915 tragedy that killed upwards of 800 people in a day. A boat turned over on its side in a river within a few feet of shore, and before everything got sorted out 800+ were dead. It's horrifying, to say the least. So I knew going in that I might end up weeping. After an hour or so of just holding my mouth shut the way you do when you're choked up, I thought, ok, this is sad, but I can keep it together. Then something happened in the show that completely broke me open, and I was a weeping mess for the rest of it.
Which I don't mind, really. Yes, I am relatively embarrassed to be seen in semi-public crying, but it was a terrifically moving show, and I enjoy that I can allow myself to be moved by what I experience.
Then I sat around for three hours and chatted about everything and nothing with a friend I adore. It was surprisingly easy to forget about all the things that make me feel discontented. It was surprisingly easy to be happy that my friend had been called back for a play I'd hoped to be called back for as well. I wasn't called back, but again, I adore my friend, she's funny and genuine and a kick-ass actress that I love seeing in shows.
Maybe I'm not a completely contemptible human being. Though I must say others might disagree. Another day I'll write about my recurring dream of running into a woman who asks me to stay away from her husband but I don't know who her husband is. Heh. Someone in my psyche clearly has a distaste for me. Wonder who it is.
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