Your mother warned you there’d be days like these – The Rembrandts
There are days when my job is the most magical profession I can think of doing outside of being on stage. There are days when the adventures that furl out in front of me are so myriad and varied that I have difficulty choosing which one I want; do I go horseback riding in Australia, or mountain climbing in Japan, or take a turn on a roller-coaster in Singapore? So many options, so little time…
There are many, many days out here when to live is an awfully big adventure.
Then…there are the other days.
They’re few and far between on this contract, I will give you that. But they do happen. The days when everything you touch seems to turn to ruin, when you make one mistake and remain convinced the entire day that it was that mistake that threw off the momentum of an entire series of events (whether or not this is actually true, and usually days later you realize that it wasn’t); days when you don’t even have the energy (or the nerve) to venture outside, but instead stay in your cabin and hide in your bunk bed with a book and a teddy bear convinced that if you stay there long enough no one will find you because you’re not coming out ever again. Ever. So there.
In a few days of course it will all blow over, but until then? Not coming out. So there.
There is – as always – an addendum to all this. It all worked out. I was able to get my quick “please say you don’t want to kill me” exchange with the CD, who assured me that he knew it wasn’t any one person’s fault but that the team did need to have a meeting about it to make sure it didn’t happen again (for those of you who actually are wondering what the heck happened? One word: Tenders. That is all) – and after that we all went to the line dancing party and literally danced it out, and by the end of the evening we were laughing and smiling and it didn’t feel all horribly false.
So I might come out.
Maybe.
So there.