Urinetown Begins, Old Problems Pop Up

We started the twelve-show run of Urinetown, this Friday. Friday's show went off without a hitch. Last night, I had a panic attack half an hour before curtain. It carried all the way through Act One.

Shit.

It's not the first time they've happened before a show. I honestly don't consider them the... trigger, for lack of a better word, but it sure as hell isn't a coincidence. They happen because of stress; and I'm moving to New York in a month. It's a safe bet that that's the biggest contributor to this.

I still did my job; and according to Jeff and Michael, the attack was unnoticeable on stage. Hey hey, it's acting. Whattya know.

My thanks go to Jenna, Andy and the others who helped out. Having someone to focus on makes a great difference. Can't thank you enough.

Sweet dreams, folks.

Titles Aren't Obligatory

Well.

Suffice it to say I'm feeling not so hot. I went to work this morning where I was spontaneously hit with some kind of chest pain; we'll call it a tightness. Not exactly a panic attack, but I could point a finger at stress and probably not be far off the mark. It hurt like a motherf*cker.

So I came home. I'm lying down, I'm drinking water, and I will have ample time... to do something. Who knows what.

Rehearsal for Complete Bible went well last night. We were more or less successfully off book. We also laughed our butts off. It's going to be a good show.

Ciao for now, Folks.

They Occupy Us

I was up fairly late last night, with a few things on my mind. (I wasn't the only one.)

This is nothing new. This is completely nothing new. For myself, thoughts ran towards the latest panic attacks; which happened to coincide with performances. Michael (with whom I shared some cigars last night) pointed out that on at least two of those occasions, we'd heard beforehand that the house was sold out. I hadn't noticed that. Not consciously, anyway.

With one exception, every attack in the last few months has been right before a rehearsal, or an actual show. To which I have to say; Stage Fright? Are you freaking kidding me?

I have never been afraid to go onstage. I live for opportunities to get up before large crowds. It's what I do. Regardless, Saturday night I was terrified. I just wanted to get the hell out on general principle.

It may be time to... talk to someone. A psychologist. Talking has always helped allay these things in the past, over time; I just thought I could sort through it on my own, for once. All evidence to the contrary.

Damn.

Well, it beats the alternative; namely having these things recur on me, without warning, at really inopportune times. The novelty on that experience wore off, real quick.

So what do you say we move on?

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.

What A Revoltin' Development

Another weekend wraps up, and this one was one for the records. In not entirely good ways.

Thursday, Friday, and Saturday’s shows were good-- very good. A panic attack threw a monkey wrench into the gears last night (ten minutes before the show, no less); but it didn’t stop me from doing my best. We still turned out one hell of a show to our biggest crowd yet.

I cannot define how frustrating these attacks are. Especially when they get in the way of things I enjoy; let alone work that requires my undivided attention and full energy. Short of trying my best to actively deal with the stressors I think are contributing to them, I don’t know what to do. (Medication isn’t gonna happen. I’m really not interested.)

* * *
One thing about writing these things is deciding what goes in, and what gets left out. I had an experience Saturday afternoon that I would love to describe with detail, but decency prevents me. If you don’t have anything nice to say…
* * *

In other news more fit to print, I showed a friend my latest script. I asked his opinion of it, and he gave it to me. His remarks were frank, constructive, and completely ripped the script a new one.

It was well-deserved. It’s possible to lose perspective (and objectivity) on your own writing; which is why going to others for input is such an important part of the process. He was kind enough to ask up front what kind of feedback I was looking for: Generalities, High Points, or the Full Opinion. I asked him to lay it on me. He pointed out several things that, in hindsight, were 100% on the money.

I try not to shoot the messenger, and do what I can to accept the remarks in the helpful vein they were intended. I think I’m doing okay, there. Thank you, Jeff.

I had a great day today; and spent some quality movie-time with my brother this afternoon. Regardless, I’ve been in a funk since the attack last night. My big hope tonight is that throwing myself into some work will air out the gray cells and let me focus on what’s truly important, here.

Ciao, folks. More to follow.

We Meet Again... Ya Jerk.

Tonight's show went well. Damn well, point of fact. That doesn't change the fact that roughly half an hour to places, I had a panic attack.

Damn.

I'd been 'good', and not had a single fluctuation in roughly two months. I don't keep sharp track of these things. Never the less, I thought I was past them. Not the case.

I made the most of it (after it was over) with some friendly assistance from Jaclyn, but it was enough to leave me drained and spent before the lights ever came up in the first place. Not fun.

Jaclyn gets phenomenal points for making me laugh during a period of unavoidable temporary misery, and has only half those points deducted for making it even harder to breathe. 'Cause of the laughing.

I was sitting in a chair, out of the way, trying to ride out the adrenaline. She came up and put a styrofoam head (used to hold her wig) on my lap. I had no idea what she's doing. "What's this for?" I asked.

"Just a little head, to make you feel better." I responded by laughing harder than I have in days. Totally worth the shortness of breath.

Ciao, folks. Have a good one.

Yep, Fair's Fair

And as such, dear readers, I feel obligated to report the bad as well.

I had my second panic attack in two weeks, yesterday. After a year and a half of… ‘clean living’? I hate these things.

Once again, no idea what set it off; I wasn’t doing anything stressful, or otherwise taxing. I was only sitting at my desk, at work, when all of a sudden my heart began quietly pounding, and felt a tightness in my chest like some fat guy was just sitting on me.

It lasted nearly an hour.

I tried controlled breathing, I tried thinking relaxed thoughts, stretching out, so forth. While it did help, ultimately there was nothing to do but (as always) ride it out.

I’m grateful that this one didn’t carry any actual panic with it. No fight or flight, just a 100% useless adrenaline dump. Last week I was overcome with the need to *get out* and so I did. I spent ten minutes finding my cool, standing outside in the cold. This was at a rehearsal for Christmas Carol, before we’d begun. That was ten minutes.

I can’t remember the last time it was so persistent. Not to mention long. They usually lasted no more than ten minutes or so, this one just wouldn’t quit. Ugh.

I hope you all have a good day. I’m fine, now, but yesterday afternoon was a completely different story.

Not that I let it interfere with movie night with Andy. Man’s got to have priorities.

Well. *That* Sucked.

Last night, something happened to me for the first time in over a year and a half. (No, not that. Sheesh.)

I had a panic attack, while trying to get ready for A Christmas Carol. I’d been doing great for ages, when all of a sudden, around 7:15, I started feeling anxious. Like some unknown really bad thing was going to happen, about which I could do nothing. A few minutes later, I felt a tightness in my chest that didn’t belong, and the impulse to Get Out raced through my brain.

I stepped outside, tried to shake the nervous energy out through my hands, loosened my tie and tried to slow down my breathing. Not that it necessarily worked. It didn’t, point of fact. When one of those bastards hits, the only thing to do is find someplace quiet to ride out the unnecessary adrenaline dump.

McCall came outside to check on me, saying I hadn’t looked right. I thanked her for coming out. We talked for a few minutes, trying to take my mind off the involuntary skittishness. This, among other reasons, is why she rocks.

It’s a stress thing. It doesn’t necessarily have anything to do with immediate circumstances, and rarely does. I really doubt it was the case last night, as there’s little in Christmas Carol to be nervous about. Nevertheless, that’s when my body chose to enter ‘fight or flight’ mode, with no-one to punch and oh yeah, I can’t fly.

It subsided (as they usually do) after a few minutes, but the damage had been done: I was spent, and the show hadn’t even started yet. Certainly not my best night.

Looks like I’ve got some assessing to do. Figure out what the heck jump-started my ticker when it was already runnin’.

And if anyone can explain why my right eye-socket hurts, I’d be grateful.