Empty nest syndrome
I’m at a loose end. The first readthrough with the entire cast and director went extremely well on Saturday. “You’ve sharpened up the script,” they said. They could only pick out one groan gag which I need to freshen up and add in a couple more gags elsewhere. Hahaha (me laughing at my own jokes), or was it more hehehair (evil Bond villain laugh).
Then I said: “So when do you want the final script by?” The response was not what I was expecting.
“This is it,” they said.
“We only need a few tweaks – send in the replacement pages.”
“But, but, but…What am I going to do now?” I wailed.
I’ve spent months, the entire first half of this year, writing every day. Taking time off work to write. Writing when I should be exercising. I’ve grown fat, but let’s not dwell on that. I’m not ready to give up the script. I’m bereft.
All these thoughts flashed through my mind as they moved swiftly on to planning the entire rehearsal schedule. I dutifully wrote the dates down, wondering which ones I would go to. “When shall I come along to them?” I asked innocently. There was a bit of an awkward silence. Then someone, I forget who, blurted out: “You’re not needed any more.”
“We’ll email you any changes we want to the script…”
Aaaarrrrrggggghhhh. No, No, No. Got to get a grip. What do I want? The play to sit in a drawer gathering dust? I just hadn’t prepared myself for empty nest syndrome. This is what it’s made me feel like. It’s like a child growing up and leaving home. My play has left home. And I’m sick with excitement about it going through its next development stages.