Yep. Last night, I experienced it. Or rather, my students did.
I hate doing that. I really do. And I feel it coming, too. It’s like a slow, nauseating build-up, as the TNT gradually inches its way closer to the plutonium cell. Then, kachinky. Fission. Bodies everywhere. I go completely blind with rage and forget to be the lady my mama raised me to be. I turn into something ugly and horrible. A hag with horns and fangs.
And the thing is — and I have to hand it to my cast, no lie — they stood there patiently, waiting for the cloud to dissipate. (With abject hatred in their hearts, I’m sure, but they stood there like soldiers nonetheless.)
So why do they put up with the likes of me? I have no idea. But I’m glad they do, because they are truly good at this musical theater thing. I know, all directors yell. I’ve been at this game long enough to know that. But somehow, I like to pride myself on retaining some modicum of self-control, so as not to come off looking like a complete lunatic.
[At this point, Mathew and Kody are laughing. Godspell 2004, anyone?]
Anyway, the self-control thing didn’t happen last night. And the meltdown occurred, oh, three minutes into the first number. Some of them, I’m sure, are still seething about it. I’m developing a nasty cold sore for my efforts. Serves me right. And I don’t even have the slightest recollection of what all I said to them. It’s a blur…but at least it’s Friday.
Fink out (to the pharmacy for some Abreva).