Butterflies

Butterflies

Not in the yard this time. In my stomach.

It’s opening night. Call is in a little over an hour. Curtain goes up two hours after that.

The show is Macbeth, and I have two roles: Lady Macduff and the Gentlewoman Attending on Lady Macbeth during the sleepwalking scene. If you’re local and would like to see the show, please consult your local entertainment listings, or contact me for details.

A dear friend of mine is shlepping quite a distance to see the show tonight. (Thank you, dear friend—you know who you are. It means a lot.)

It’s an amazing production. The director, who is fantastic, has an interesting vision for the show which I think works very well (and no, I don’t know whether she reads my blog). Our actors are excellent and knowledgeable, and our costumes are exquisite. I particularly like mine, a long Renaissance-era chemise.

I do my own make-up. Been doing it since I was a kid.

Everything’s ready: my backpack is packed, the bed is made for my friend (who’s spending the night), there’s food ready in the refrigerator for tomorrow’s breakfast. Going down the checklist one last time ... yup, everything’s done. I’m almost ready to head out to the theater.

Oh, yes, and I’ll even be singing a little.

All I need now is a tiny bit of butterfly repellent.