A friend of mine is dealing with the difficult illness of a parent as I type this. If she’s reading this, I’m pretty sure she’d want me to be my normal hysterical self, and to that I say, no worries, because I’m nothing but irreverent when necessary, but oh, my friend, you do have a rough road ahead of you. I know you will resurface on the other side stronger and having discovered things about yourself and your spirit that you didn’t know lived within you. And if nothing else, a collection of shot glasses, should you heed my mother’s advice. I love you a lot, and I sincerely wish I could be there to help you through, but until then, this blog shout out will have to suffice.
I suppose that has me thinking about when I lost my dad. It’s still a pretty surreal experience, losing a parent. I know there are a lot of things in my life I probably wouldn’t have tried if I hadn’t adopted a sort of “Rent”-esque “No day but today” attitude following that event in my life. So, though, I don’t define myself by the fact that I lost my dad at age 20, it surely shaped the person I’ve become. It’s in those sort of moments that you have to believe there’s a greater power than yourself making sure you’re guided to your place in the world. I mean, seriously, without the journey I’ve taken, who’d be sitting here with the Rat Pack? Surely not someone as fantastic(k) as me.
Thus ends the serious, thought provoking part of my entry. I now return to my aimless ramblings that you all know and love. Do you like how I address my “audience” in my blog? I like to think that as you read that last line, you’re all sitting there nodding your head thinking, “Ah, yes. I do know and love that about Susan.” And I gather a lot of comfort thinking of you, dear reader, sitting in Arlington or Astoria or San Diego or Chicago (look at my nationwide appeal!) drinking your Starbucks (which also happens to remind you of me) and being thoroughly entertained. It’s a brilliant thought to me here on this chilly Coventry night, when I should be packing, but am instead writing a truly self-serving blog. Good thing I wrote all that serious stuff above, so that you all don’t think my blog reading audience of about 7 has made my head too big. But then again, it’s 3:28am on the morning of my 29th birthday, so I think I can write just about whatever I want. Also, because you know I still have about 40 pounds of luggage to pack and then figure out how logistically possible it will be to get on two trains, two taxis, one subway, and I’m sure at least 8 flights of narrow stairs to my next destination in Tonbridge without throwing out my back or being deported for cursing the British too loudly. This life is ridic.
I like the fact that BBC thinks after The Wiz, which I did enjoy, they can just show screenshots of “Next Week’s Highlights” to disco music. I mean, and I really supposed to sit here and read through all of this stuff on tv? If I wanted to read, I would pick up one of the 47 books on my bedside table (see the 40 pounds of luggage comment above). I mean, that is some lazy programming Brits! I mean, would it kill you to put on a marathon of The Office? Or maybe The Wedding Planner or that movie with Matthew Perry and Selma Hayek that’s always playing on TBS? Seriously.
The countdown to Houston has commenced in full swing. I posted everyone’s flight details (well, everyone but me since I’m still totes undecided about my return date to the UK). And I keep reminding people about the weather there. And the rodeo. Ye-haw! I remember the Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo from back in the 80s, when for some reason, Dad would drag us all there to look at cows and whatever. Then we would head over to the Astrodome to watch whatever act was playing. I remember seeing Patti LaBelle and Alabama. Both of which my dad hated for being too loud. I’m not sure what would have made him happy, but I imagine the canon blasts at the end of the 1812 Overture would have been just about right, volume wise that is.
This entry doesn’t really have a lot to do with my trip, so I suppose I should write something down about it. Coventry was a city destroyed during WWII, and I don’t think it’s ever quite recovered. I did mange to get out on Tuesday and see Warwick Castle, which escaped the bombing, and the dragons, apparently, and is one of the best kept castles in the UK. As well it should be by the like $35 I paid to get in. Yikes. It was very pretty though. I took some lovely photos, which naturally you can find here... Besides that, I didn’t get out much, as I spent the better part of my week chasing down 2 weeks worth of petty cash. Oh platinum Amex card how I miss you and your magical problem-solving ways. We had a sold-out show tonight, which was nice, and then an uneventful load-out, which ended in the normal way of me racing to finish all my reports, and my crew leaving me behind to be nearly locked in the theatre for the third week in a row. Ugh. Whatever. It’s almost time to go to Houston. I love it.
Okay, I suppose I should quit writing this and go to bed/finish packing. Hope this finds all of you ready to celebrate my birthday. I’m sure it does.
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