Re-considering the musical, it is a strange sort of honor for parts of my quirkiness to be displayed for a theatre-going public. I was appalled, sure. Now, it’s a very strange form of compliment. For all of the people that this guy met years ago on that random weekend trip to Utah, I was the one who stuck through revisions, editing, re-writing, and otherwise apparently there was enough there that it was easy enough to flesh out for whomever played the role.
So, instead of being rocked like a top out of my skull, is it better to be amused? Perhaps. Appalled? Well, that was my inherent reaction. Afterwards, I am not about to embrace all of it, and no, the playwright didn’t “nail me” by any means. But the parts where I saw something rather hideous, or things where I thought, “Are you kidding me?” either need changing or were changed long ago.
I am still formal, and I have my guard up more often than down. I get disappointed easily, and it would be better if I never had any expectations at all. With most people, I simply shrug my shoulders and keep walking. There are a few people where I would give a lot for them to live up to expectations, but that’s perhaps not fair. So, the Shield where I keep out the world? It works, to a degree. The stuff that gets through may turn into blog fodder. Things that otherwise may not matter to other people, but after years of certain thought processes matter at least in arts to me. *shrugs, walking away*
Instead of being appalled, now I am a little amused. More like, wow. I really was like that back then, and the guy only saw me for maybe two days if that. I also have to give him kudos for working hard and taking at least three years for a play that may only be around for two months. That’s a lot of effort for something. He also inspired inner thought processes, evaluations and re-evaluations.
The person that I am now is a reserve book. I wanted to say that I was like the floor model for either a car or furniture or electronics. The main problem with that is that when the new model comes along, the show model goes through a strange and awkward clearance sale. And I will never be for sale, at least not intentionally. Some day I may have a book out, or some part of me in that regard may be for sale, but never ME for sale.
When it comes to a reserve book, I am a little wary. While on the one hand, I feel honored that it takes a while to find out that I am what someone wants, being stuck on the shelf is a little lonely. Yes, I am out of the hands of others and there is only one right fit. I am in the catalog, and anyone can see my entry if they try, but you have to look, hard. I am not a paperback mass market circulating type of person. Esoteric, preferably, I am not everyone’s preferred choice. It takes research to find me. Looking for the right thing and I am not in just any library. I feel like blogging puts my world on WorldCat. That’s fine, I hope. All the same, I feel wary of the experiences necessary for the right person to find me, and to check me out on permanent loan if I am that blessed.
At least I moved inside the library. I realize now that I am electronic reference of a sort. I am the hot commodity, and in showroom model language they don’t yet have the right tools to display me properly and so I am still waiting. I am a book that updates regularly. How strange is that?! Constantly shifting, changing. There are some parts that never move, but the rest of me feels like I want a platform off of which to expand and flood the earth with light. Maybe I am more dreamer than anything else, but it is better to dream and become the dream than to sit and stew in idle without directions or focus.