Out With A Bang

Tonight saw the conclusion of Kensington Theatre's Assassins. It was a phenomenal run. Simply fantastic.

It also featured the single largest panic attack I've had in years.

I went a year without having one. I've had three in the last month. Something needs to be worked through, and I don't know what it is. I thought (and still think) I have a handle on the various changes going on in my life right now. Maybe it's something else. Who can say?

Jack. Jaclyn. Shannon. Michael. Andrea. Nicole. You got me through this. I can't thank you enough. You stepped up when I needed someone, and I couldn't ask for better support. I'm not thrilled that it took so much to get there, but thank you, regardless.

For people who have never had one-- let me put it like this. You have a button in your brain that is used in emergencies. A surge of adrenaline will kick in for anywhere from ten minutes to an hour, demanding that something be done with that temporary boundless energy, now. It brings along... panic. Complete panic. Emotions run very high, rationale leaves the building like it was on fire, and the only thing to focus on is trying hard not to hyperventilate, mixed with a repeating command of 'Get the hell out of there'.

When it is finished (and it will take as long as it takes), you are drained. Nearly exhausted. This happened 30 minutes before the show, and continued 15 minutes into it.

I. Had. A job to do. So I did it. No-one in the audience noticed (or at least, claimed to notice). I downed a soda for its caffiene and kept moving, through the finale'. Then we struck the set and celebrated our swansong in style. I will soon be asleep, very possibly like a rock.

Right now, though? I'd like to just give a big fat middle finger to whatever it is in my subconscious that's causing this. I don't need it, I don't ask for it, and I can still put on a hell of a show in spite of it; so kindly fuck off. You're wasting my time.

If there's something more useless than that? I really don't want to know about it.