and then I woke up, and it was all a dream…

In an act of amity and curiosity, I asked Sam – saxophonist and my friend at woodwind – to buy me a ticket for the play that he was in. He had been chatting on for weeks about it and bits that made him laugh and that he enjoyed, so I thought it wouldn’t hurt to take an evening out to support my friend.

Oh dear me.

Now, I know that sounds harsh but hindsight has hindered my view. I mean, for an amateur dramatic performance, it was good. The scenes ran smoothly and, other than a few fluffed or too quiet lines (which are too be expected), it came across as well rehearsed. The script wasn’t the tightest thing ever and the songs had me slightly confused as to their relevance BUT overall, it was good.

Until it got to 9:30pm. Now, that was the time Sam had told me it had finished the night before so my thinking was: with them having done it twice before, it would run quicker, or at least around the same time. I was due at Rachael’s at 10pm so it suited me just fine and I told mum to pick me up then. Except they were nowhere near finishing by half past nine. That wouldn’t have bothered me too much; I would have slipped out quite easily… had my allocated seat not been on the other side of the room as the bloody door.

Jesus Christ. I think the phrase is ‘in between a rock and a hard place.’ Because I had two options… standing up before the performance is over and risk looking incredibly rude to a hall full of people and any of the performers who may have seen me leave… or have mum wait for me for however long. I had no texts and could hardly ring her for the exact same reason that I couldn’t walk out. It was in this state of ambivalence and stress that I remained for twenty minutes until my breaking point came.

You see, the play was titled Bluebird and was about four poor, miserable northern children who were sent on a quest by a fairy to look for the Bluebird of Happiness, voyaging through many lands such as the Land of the Future and the Land of the Night etc. After several complications, and mild mortal peril that would have given it a PG rating, they finally arrived at the Garden of Happiness (clearly, they didn’t have enough wit to go there in the first place, which would have saved the audience two hours and many songs of their time.) whereby they discover that the fucking bluebird of happiness… was with them all along. They just needed a bloody big adventure to get some perspective and appreciate what they have.

I actually sat there and thought, “Are you taking the fucking piss?!” However, that thought didn’t stay with me long because swiftly, I gathered my belongings and, not even waiting for the cover of darkness during a scene change, I walked out. I’d remained in turmoil for long enough and I wasn’t going to stick around for another bloody song and dance about appreciation and lalalala while mum waited outside for me for yet another million years. By that point, I didn’t even bloody care if I looked like the rudest person on the planet. I needed to leave.

What a bloody cop out! Mum was frustrated when I finally reached the car but I think, once I finished venting, she understood my situation. After all that palava, I managed to turn up to Rachael’s on time and a good time was had by all. Which was good because my evening was in great need of being salvaged.

-mutters- bluebird of happiness... what's wrong with something like the crow of doom or raven of depression? stupid bloody happy people... spreading joy... as if!