So, I think I’ve finally identified my mood this morning.
I don’t feel celebratory, or elated, or even relieved. I have some hope that I will start feeling that way at noontime, but at the moment, anyway, that’s not how I feel.
I feel, mostly, exhausted.
I feel like it’s time to strike the set. And I’m tired, and everybody is tired, and we’ve got this big elaborate set that needs to come down to make room for the next one, and it’s just so much work. And this is just me, but I am complete rubbish at set building and striking and don’t much enjoy doing either—in set striking, I generally do a lot of carrying bits of wood from one place to another and sweeping up staples, and occasionally I act as a brace when someone is unscrewing an actual brace. And mostly I wander around feeling only very slightly helpful, trying not to actually damage anything that is supposed to only be disassembled and not damaged. But, you know, it has to be done, and everybody has to help or it’s much worse, and other people are really conspicuously not helping, which makes me feel worse, not better. And also the green room and the dressing rooms are complete wrecks, and well, I share the blame for that, don’t I?
And—in actual set-striking, mostly, I’ve had the good fortune to have been in the show and enjoyed it, and made friends among the cast and crew, and strike is a chance to spend a little more time with them, which is a nice and sentimental thing. And sometimes when I am helping strike a set, I am in the next show to use that space, in which case there’s excitement and anticipation mingled with the weariness and semi-helplessness. The analogy is far from exact. But it’s closer to the set-striking emotion than to any sort of party.
Tolerabimus quod tolerare debemus,