One Box, Two Box, Red Box, Blue Box. Big Box, Tack Box, White Box, Black Box.

I'm ridiculously excited about volunteering at the Black Box Theatre. It's certainly an opportunity to, for once, step within the mysterious biology of theatre that I've always wondered about.

Now, I am in no way an actor. And, admittedly, I'm frightened of any number of people looking at me no matter the activity. Remember? I'm the haphazardly painted chair on the side of the set. And though necessary to a certain aspect of the play, haphazardly painted chairs are not usually required to memorize lines or interact with actors except if the actor draws notice to the chair.

Like, "Why look at that fine chair! What a fine chair! Oh, but I'm much too excited to sit in this fine furniture speciman." Because it is painted, after all.

I used to act when I was younger. I think I would have had more confidence if I hadn't have had to say anything memorized. I've a horrid terrible memory. Or perhaps it was my fear that I would forget something that made my memory so bad. It's a quintessential chicken and egg metaphor. Does my memory fail first and then I get scared or does getting scared cause my memory to fail?

I'm not sure if anyone remembers Christy: The Musical. It played in Townsend for three years until it went flat broke. They made a tv series on it too. The entire shortlived hooplah was spawned by a best selling book about a young woman who comes to the mountains to teach in a school. A plague of typhoid breaks out and people die. And, of course, there's a lovers triangle.

In the musical I played a really bad dancer school kid. That wasn't my title, but I was a really bad dancer, so that is the title I'd given myself. I loved it and hated it. I got paid for it. So there ya go. I wasn't terribly social and my feet stank. But I think the entire experience taught me that when you I am faced with a decision to do something or simply quit I'll do it no matter how bad the outcome.

Why? Maybe I don't want to let anyone down. Or maybe it's simply that when faced with a challenge, even if I'm petrified, I'll try. Even if I think I'm going to fail, I'll try. Unless I see it's impossible or my passions lie opposite of the obstacle, I'll give it a go. And as I've gotten older it's gotten even more meaningful. I'll add, because what do I have to lose? I've already decided that my dignity is history for initially subjecting myself to such a seemingly impossible task. So what else do I have to lose? Unless it's an arm.

I enjoy all of my limbs.

currently: stinky

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