Stretched Out

I'm a singular person. I love theatre and its strong peanut butter balls of ensemble, stuck together and dusted with coconut. But, generally, I spend time with people one-on-one. The more people the more anxious. I know it can be good for me. I have evidence of course. But, mostly...I don't scoot towards flocks of friends. In conclusion, I have these little friendies sprinkled over the country like paprika on a deviled egg.

I love them, my pretties.

They stay in my heart, but where are all MY little bits? With each of them? No one has the carbon copies. No one knows how I used to make up dance routines to "Viva Forever" AND what I think about Graff's opinions of academic language. The tactics I used, how many bites it takes to finish a yogurt, how long my laundry was in the basket unfolded. I realize everyone lives in twelve trillion particles, but something seems...fishy that no one can pin them all down. Not even me?


my longform team, performing last week

It's hard to explain except to say we're on our own in every way.
Someone who says they'll stay, may just be waiting around for some luck.