And five, six, seven, eight

Oh, performance weekend is fun and too much at the same time. Here are the pros and cons of the show I danced in last night and will dance in one more time at 2 pm today:

Pros:

• Everyone in the company is nice and funny and fun to be around. Every single one. This may be my favorite part of joining so far.
• The show is artistic and interesting in a playful way, and it's always nice to be a part of art.
• There's a piano in one of the dressing rooms and I got to play for the girls.
• The Manship is a beautiful theatre.
• I'm feeling less like the new girl and more like I deserve to be there as much as everyone else (even though G says I don't stand up straight).
• Mom, Whit, Reid and Paul came last night and liked it. I didn't think they would.
  
• Although I don't like being the center of attention and I'm not in love with performing, I do like the stage and the total in-the-zone mode of being one with the music and the audience.
• Leif said he thought my turns were good.
• We went out to a wine bar that I'd never been to last night. I wore a dress and heels and felt like I wasn't myself (in a good way). Or that maybe I still don't know parts of myself.
• Dancing and performing makes me feel like I lead an underground life, like some kind of really girly superhero. I crossed the street downtown and didn't feel like a teacher at all for a moment.

Cons:

• My feet and ankles are killing me.
• I'm only in two dances and one transition. I watch the best pieces from side stage.
  
• There's a part of one of the dances that is so unrehearsed that we don't know the counts still, and I messed it up and went early last night.
• I don't know what I'm teaching on Monday.

I guess those are the only cons. Next time I'm complaining about rehearsal schedules, I should remember how badly I need dance in my life.

Sometimes when I'm in it, though, I think: I can't wait for this performance to be over. Why is that? How can I love it and want it to be over? When I lay on the stage at the end of the last piece last night, I thought Thank god. It's over. And when I see stagehands in jeans watching from side stage, I get a little jealous. They don't have to dress up and put themselves out there. They get to stay comfortable. I guess that's what it's about. There's a big layer of discomfort in performance--you're all made up, and you're so watched. You're throwing your body into movement and you could fall or miss a step or look ridiculous or wrong or ugly at any moment. You're tired as hell and you want to take a nap or watch TV, but you have to run onstage at your cue and look like you have all the energy in the world. That almost the most exhausting part: feeling as if you have to look fantastic and vibrant when you really feel nervous, gassy, achy, and tired.

I guess that's the test of a performance. To push yourself to the point that you find a peace and a flow in doing this really uncomfortable, vulnerable thing. To where you can look into the audience at the tie and shirt of a guy you've never met and keep dancing despite the fact that he's sitting there all comfortable and invisible and you're bare-legged, sweating and working on stage. To say "Hey, here I am, this is me, or some rehearsed weird version of me, and I'm just going to keep doing my thing while you sit there, kay?"

I did hit a few points last night where I was completely calm on stage. Now I need to see if I can go do it again for the old people post-church crowd. I really want to just sit here and read Revolutionary Road.