Luna has flown the co-op, with an ornery kitten in a mesh bag on a red-eye back to NH. I stand here in our bright city and feel like it could never be gotten its fill of before death, and that I don't wish to. I look at the leagues that have flown under me since I've been here, and the muscles on my shoulders that weren't there before, and the lines just barely there around my mouth that certainly weren't there before. I feel the heartbreak of leaving before I've even decided to leave.
But I will. There is something better. I have been in the practice of wringing every last drop out of things...cities, relationships, apartments, beliefs- before there was nothing left and I threw away the remnant rotting skin of what it was. Since I've learned, the price you pay for leaving something before you wring it dry is that you miss it. Sometimes you miss it terribly, but you can remember it the way it was in fullness.
Riddle me this...what audition is coming up a mere two days after my act's deadline?
Off to rehearse with the lovely and beloved Vau de Vire wenches.
Never, never, ever put a cap on the possibilities for your life. I don't care if it sounds cheesy. It's essential.