Christmas Over Already?

No feeling in the vast array of human emotion compares to disappointment. Yeah, ok, anger, rage, delight, those are all good, but pure disappointment (mixed with a pinch of hopelessness) has zero competition. Every reader, and I will stake the very breath in my lungs on this claim, feels some disappointment at the conclusion of any given thing. Take me, for instance. I'm the sort of bloke of feels bummed on the last day of school. Who knows, something great could've been concluding. Your best academic year could be winding to an abrupt end. Ok, ok, so I'm crazy. Hell, I know you can't leave school fast enough on the last day, but I'd rather linger, much like some musty odor that seems to escape the clutches of Febreeze. For the sake of entertaining you faithful bloggies, I'll reluctantly bring up a holiday more accessible to normal folks. Christmas. Christmas Eve, the zenith of anticipation, preparation, and perspiration for the following day, usually finds me with soaked undies, just dying to unleash my fury on the wrapping paper in the morning. After a few fresh change-ups, and a snack to ease my mind, I head to bed. It's not uncommon for me to struggle through the entire night. Hell, I'm sure it was easier for Mohammed Ali to last eight rounds with George Foreman than it was for me to catch a damn wink of sleep that whole night. And thus the morning comes, shining sweet light on my bloodshot eyes, and creeping over the snow into the living room. Needless to say, after just coming off a collective rest of 27 seconds, I'm a little tired. But come on! It's Christmas Day! Show me those presents! Wake those parents up! I've got boxes to see and papers to rip! And then it's over. Quicker than Al Roker can drop the heavy hundred, Christmas has come and gone. And there I am, in my cold bed, but lacking the dreams of anticipation that came in tow the night before. Heck, I'd gladly wet my britches for another day of Christmas...well, maybe. Regardless, it's that disappointment that seeps deeper than any pain can normally seep. Like a thick sap that sticks to every conceivable object, this disappointment is only healed with time. Sadly enough, it's usually 364 days worth of time.

To lead into the point of this blog (just in case some of you already decided that I was focusing entirely on Christmas), the performance of my short play, Irreconcilable Differences, was carried out tonight. After weeks of breath-taking anticipation, anxiety, and hordes of migrating Monarch butterflies, it was completed. To be completely honest, I've been more proud of anything I've ever done. And not only that, I shouldn't receive any credit for the success of the night's show. My cast, who astounded me with their level of verisimilitude on the stage, took my creation and molded it into something with a little piece of all of us. There was my vision, but the elements that Mr. Bullaro and Lauren brought to the table are just as indispensable as the script itself. Simply amazing - they were unbelievable.

To tie in that element of disappointment, I just realized it as I was sitting at this computer. It came to me. The work that I've done for the past two months has paid off. What do I do now? Countless weeks of zero hour rehearsals, cooperative meetings, and plain old great times have wound down to a successful end. What do I do now? I've held witness as my first stage vision was carried out in brilliant form. What do I do now? Well, I suppose I just think about it. Be proud of it. I look forward to doing something, anything, like this again. It was an absolute thrill. But somewhere, deep down in my heart, I can feel the sap stick. It clings and slides its way around, smothering mostly everything.

The 364 day wait for Christmas is barely tolerable.

Reliving what we accomplished tonight is impossible.