The World is a Stage

Yesterday was my first day back at the gym since Christmas.

On the way home from the gym, I stopped at the local post office and mailed a packet and had a chit-chat with the postmaster.

And then I collapsed in a heap at home and AP found me sprawled out on our bed in my yoga pants and sports bra. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” I said. “I feel like I’ve run 10 miles and been put through a washing machine.”  He left me in peace.


And last night was our first rehearsal for GUYS AND DOLLS since the holiday. I showed up a little early and sat on the edge of the stage. Very soon I saw one of my cast mates make a bee-line for me with a furrowed brow.

She whispered, “are you all right?”
“Oh Yes!” said I.
She lowered her head and looked at me with such concern. “Are you sure?”
And I lowered my head and said, “y-y-yesss…?”
“I saw you today,” she said, knowingly.

Immediately I ran through a list of possible things that she may have seen: Was I crying in public? Was I talking to myself? Was I kicking at the sidewalk in anger while remembering some infraction? Picking my nose? Nope, nope, nope. I had no idea…

I lowered my voice and cocked my head, “Wwwhere did you see me?”
“At the post office.  You looked like something was really wrong.”

I smiled with relief. “Oh yeah. I had just been working out at the gym.”


I really must be more careful when I’m out in public:  Smile; no limping; no drooling; no self-talk (out loud).  And I especially must remember this after a work-out at the gym, and before a theatrical performance.  All the world is a stage.

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