Drama Queen.

Strangling my dearest Tessabunny in "Joyful Noise" by Tim Slover (2008, BYU-Hawaii)

I've often wondered why I've  been so forcefully drawn to the performing arts since, probably, infancy.

I stomached the servitude inflicted on me by my cruel mother by pretending I was Cosette in "Les Miserables" whenever I was forced to do chores (which, due to my evasive nature and privileged position as baby of the family, wasn't often). 
Out of necessity,  I was once forced to steal my brother's GI Joe in order to cast him as the title role in "The Phantom of the Opera," co-starring Belle (in her Christmas dress, of course) as Christine, Aurora as Meg, and Jasmine as Madame Giry. 
Early childhood tantrums and tragic fits of melodramatic weeping led my family to affectionately sneer that I should be an actress some day.

...
So, does this little hobby/ addiction fill some sort of need for "drama" in my life? (In fact, if you know me at all, you know I don't really need anymore, thank you.) 
Is it merely an excuse to keep playing "dress up"?
Or a way to get back at my big sister for always making me be Mr. Collins or Kitty when she consistently got to be Elizabeth?
 Or, perhaps, a means of escaping my true self by constantly living as someone else?
...
I have no idea.
That's kind of a sad thought, though, isn't it?
And yet, I've always  identified so closely with a line from "Funny Girl" (A life-long beloved musical starring Babs Streisand):

"I'm a much better comic than mathematician

Cause I'm better on stage than at intermission."

Whatever the secret, or the mystical call that inevitably draws all true thespians to their place on stage- their natural habitat, that is- I love it and can't seem to give it up.

This point is illustrated by the fact that even though I try to act grown-up and professional, I get a little giggle in my throat every time I open the "Performer's Entrance" door on my way to rehearsal.  Even though I technically have no job nor school to attend to these days and am, for all intents and purposes, as useless as I've ever been,  I get a little spring in my step whenever I remember that I'm getting paid to flounce around the stage and pine after D'Artagnan and die a lovely little death by poison.

And the little drama queen in me really couldn't be happier. 

So whether I'm running away from something, or desperate for affirmation, or simply just a little girl with a big imagination...I'm doing what I want to do. Pot hole summer or not. And for now...that's a good thing.

Banana

P.S. Sorry about all the soap opera posts lately... I'm a little embarrassed about that.