This Always Happens

My apologies to those who are new to this site. What follows next is a somewhat depressing reflection on the end of the play. Usually I write happy, funny things of wit and … humour. Go figure.

I’m quiet right now. Very quiet. I should be working on Linear Algebra homework, since we have a test tomorrow, but I’m not. I should be completing the take home test that is due tomorrow, but I sit here listening to Radiohead and typing up what should prove to be a wasteful parade of letters.

I’m quiet because yet another play is over and, with the closing of another theatrical display, comes the depression. It never fails. Large production or small one, every play ends with this sadness that comes over me.

It could be the endorphins. Acting gets me high. It’s like sucking straight O2 for hours. It’s like hanging upside down and then spinning in a circle for 10 minutes. It’s like holding your breath for as long as you can and then doing it again over and over. It’s that kind of high. So after 4 nights of intense high, maybe my body doesn’t want to let go. Maybe my body NEEDS it.

It could be the people. A lot of those people in the play I won’t see ever again. Like I told some of them, “Unless I start hanging out at the Middle School picking up chicks, this will probably be goodbye.” Not that the thought hasn’t passed my mind, but I have no idea where the Middle School in this town is. I felt this after the first play. I didn’t know Heather or Jamie at all before ‘Heaven and Hell’ additions. And now look. Just look.

It could be more than all that, though. It could be that the play is a living, breathing (the most clich� way to say ‘alive’) organism. A play is comprised of so many people : writers, directors, musicians, constructors, actors. Could it be that when a play ends, the thing dies? The people involved are severed from each other. It’s like going steady for a month and then having no contact at all. It’s like having the walk of your life and getting smoked by a semi truck. It’s like enjoying the trees on a glorious hunt until the back of your head meets a 12 gauge.

I don’t really mean to be so morbid. It’s just the things that come to mind right now. Future readers, be not disheartened. Go into my archives section and check out what’s there. Or enjoy Pizza What ?, Train of Thought, or Lessons Jack Beuer Taught Me.

In the meantime, I think I’m going to go do some homework, listen to Radiohead, and try my best to ignore myself.

| Pull me out of the aircrash. Pull me out of the lake. I’m your superhero. We are standing on the edge. |

Author: Miles Rausch

I've made a smart playlist of all the songs with 0 plays. I listen to them because I feel bad for them not because I like the music. I'm THAT guy.

8 thoughts on “This Always Happens”

  1. I thought the play/musical was great. Anyways i would think that you would be happier since now you don’t have something tieing up your evenings and not having to spend hours on a hot stage, but I guess, what the hell do i know.

    One of my favorite parts of the play was the street scene where Yussel(Miles) is just standing there looking lost and confused while everybody is walking somewhere and kind of ignoring him. At least thats what it looked like to me.

  2. it is kind of nice to have the nights free and not have to get into costume and makeup…but, then again there’s something that is lost when it’s all over. you’ll never spend as much time with those people again…not like that. when you start something like this, you leave the rest of the world behind. your world becomes the people you’re in the play with and what you’re trying to create together. there are people you would never have known any other way…conversations that you would’ve never had any other way…and a feeling of belonging that is amazing and wonderful and worth every moment.
    i guess you just have to be there…

  3. I see this as being a great episode of Saved by the Bell.

    The play rocked too. Especially the free donuts Kari scored. And the accents.

  4. miols, so sorry i couldn’t see your play. instead i made $46 in tips and managed to slice my finger open and earn myself a trip to the hospital. all in two day’s work! amazing, the things one can do!
    but i’m sure you were great, cuz you always are; i’m sorry you miss it so much. but it’s otay. there will always be more. never the same set, the same ppl, the same band and music, or the same lights. but always there will be more.
    :bounce: :D
    haha! get it??

  5. Wish I coulda come see you on stage, bro… but as consolation, perhaps I can come rock the Easter kasbah with ya… I’m writing to your parents tonight to see what the dilly-yo is, yo.
    prepare for fun!

  6. ending a play is like loss of a loved one. It reaches a pinicle sp and then it is over, comes to a sudden jolting end. It is sad… i always hated closing night, it was an end. But this too shall pass and you will have great remembrances. If thespians weren’t so darn fun to be around it wouldn’t be so hard to close a production. hang in there, the only alternative is to never be in a play… that would be worse.

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