What good is sitting alone in your room?

You know that scene in When Harry Met Sally where Harry just moans on the phone to Sally post-breakup?  He's wallowing. I was first familiarized with wallowing through Rory Gilmore via her first Dean breakup. In Gilmore Girls, wallowing consists of eating large quantities of pizza and ice cream and watching fantastic trash movies/rom-coms and crying endlessly.  I'm not much of a crier (although--trust me--it's happening regardless), and I'm about to be minimally clothed in a show (so no pizza or ice cream for me), but I am absolutely watching my quintessential comfort movies.  You've Got Mail is the current film of choice.

Manfriend and I broke up.  As upset and supremely lonely as I feel, I am most heartbroken to lose my best friend.  If there were any way to maintain our friendship (and there certainly isn't for the time being) it wouldn't be nearly as hard.

Breaking up is sort of equivalent to death--in a sense.  You've lost a huge part of your life (perhaps forever? though in this instance I certainly hope not) and a part of you kind of dies with that loss.  Though it's a lesser gravity of sadness (and in some ways--though not as different as I would have imagined--a different kind of sadness), the last time I was this upset was a year ago when Grandmama passed.  Loss just makes you ache. It makes you ache in that head-is-a-bowling-ball-hurts-from-ugly-crying-empty-inside kind of way.  It's truly wretched.

There's not much of an upside to any of this (although, in the long run, I'm sure my priorities will be more closely aligned to what they used to be and that will ultimately be a good thing) except that I have an incredibly strong support system of incredible friends and family and I'm in the best theatrical production I've ever been a part of in my life.

Cabaret has completely rocked my world.  Not only did Kander/Ebb/Joe Masteroff create one of the most stunningly heartwrenching/dense/potent pieces of musical theatre of all time (and Sam Mendes re-conceptualized it in an epic way), but the cast DTC has assembled is truly remarkable and the direction/staging is mindblowingly genius.

Losing such a huge helping of daily love/friendship is painful, but my love of theatre preceded it and I think will always supersede any human affection.  I am truly in love with theatre (and especially this production) and I think that love will save me.  I have a day off from rehearsal tomorrow and I am not looking forward to it.  I crave rehearsal.  I crave dancing and sweating and being stunned by the sheer genius of the principle actors and the remarkable staging of the director.  I love stretching and pushing my body.  I love getting blisters from leather heeled boots I wear as a Kit Kat Girl.  I love that I get to behave badly.  I love my co-actors.  I love constantly learning.  I love being happy.

I think there's something very Sally Bowles about my spirit; this kind of worries me.  I'm not ignoring the Nazi party and the outside world and having an abortion and sleeping around with random men (as Sally does) but I am totally similarly addicted to the high of performing--and living in a false, beautiful, enticing constructed world on a stage.  I'd frankly rather live there than in real life.  I think this will be a problem as I grow up, but I guess we'll take things as they come.

No use permitting some prophet of doom to wipe every smile away--life is a Cabaret 'ol chum, and I love a Cabaret...