I wrote something else longer and whiny. I’ve self-censored, and will leave you with this:
Last night I had a dream that I was cast as Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz. But I had too many obligations and I missed three weeks of rehearsals. But when opening night came, I insisted with my husband that I had to be at the show. That I had promised to be there.
I arrived in costume and everyone was staring at me and asking me, “Where the hell have you been?” with their eyes. I was anxious and guilt-stricken, thinking about all of the work that had gone on while I was away. I told them I was ready, “Please put me on stage.”
The stage manager looked at me sternly and asked if I knew the blocking. Had I memorized all of my lines?
And that’s when my heart sank. I didn’t know a single line. I didn’t even know where my script was. I wanted to keep my promise, but I was wholly unprepared. Completely inept.
And then I flushed with embarrassment as my understudy walked by, fully decked out in her Dorothy costume. I bit my lip, wondering why I hadn’t just given up, when I didn’t have a clue what I was doing.