He provides me with great 'tunes and I promise I won't visit him.
For the most part, he does a great job. Broadway is my life. I would be dead without it, literally. That story is a story for another day, after a ranting blog.
Lately, as you heard from a previous blog, I'm OBSESSED with In The Heights. I have a feeling this will change when Next to Normal and Guys and Dolls release their CDs. I go through little phases of what I'm listening to. I have a TON of Bway CDs, it's not even funny. I even collect Bway records. I have a CD of the 1954 cast of Three Penny Opera, and my aunt has the record. I'm also one for owning multiple casts. I'll be buying the LCR [London Cast Recording] of Spring Awakening. I own three versions of Company: LCR 1994, OBC [Original Broadway Cast] 1970, and OBC 2008.
I adore everything about musicals. The music, the acting, the staging, the dancing, the singing, the work that goes into a great show, the ushers, rushing, stage dooring, the actors...everything. There is something about walking into a theatre and being transformed into a different time period for two hours. [Wow. I just realized that is what The Man In The Chair said at the beginning of The Drowsy Chaperone. I attend wayyyy too much Broadway.]
Even when I sit in my car or in my room, I'm there. I'm in Germany, 1880s or an empty theatre, 1980s. I stomp and scream and belt and tap and dance ["Daddy, i would LOVE to dance."]. I can escape from my dramatic life and no matter what, everything is ok when I'm with Irving. There's a song for every feeling and a scene for every problem. Irving can fix it all, and I depend on it.
But it's not my LIFE. I still have other things I enjoy. I read and have school and work. I like to watch TV and clean my room and hang out with friends. Bway is just part of my life.
I don't expect the people around me to enjoy or have the same knowledge or love for Broadway like I do. I like grand gestures, but not in the literal sense. It's not only standing up on stage and singing your heart out, a grand gesture could be an unexpected phone call, a hand-written letter, or standing outside her house with a boom box over your head playing "In Your Eyes." It's the thought that counts, not the actual action. That's what makes it "grand."
Potter would call me every night when we dated. I didnt ask him to, in fact, I remember complaining about it. Now, I look back and realize how amazing he was and how stupid I was to let him go. I miss him. I miss what he and I had.
Here's where I wished my life was a musical, because I don't know where to go or what to say, and a song would fix it.
Can't you see it? The lonely girl sitting on her bed after her boyfriend breaks up with her, singing to the world and to no one at the same time.
"Don't wish.
Don't start.
Wishing only wounds the heart.
There's a girl I know.
He loves her so.
I'm not that girl."
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