I. Have you ever been in a fight with somebody? Like, not the knock-down-drag-out kind, more like the yelling and feeling bad kind of fight. Unresolved. You walk away and you don't talk for a while. You don't really know what's going on, it just starts and then it escalates. Depending on the mood you were in maybe. People get into moods. There's a reason why they say whoo! somebody got up on the wrong side of the bed!  Or something could have set me off just because I watched a particular show and I took on the character I was watching. Not the sociopath murderer. Maybe the quirky lawyer, the vengeful business partner, or the victimized and abused wife who's got a philandering husband, so I, the viewer, come away with man, I am spoiling for a fight. II. You ever been up for a part and get so close you can smell it? Then there's a little shift of temperature in the room. Somebody else comes in. The director insists they're a better fit, but the choreographer stands up for you, no no no no no she's good. She's got bona fides. And you get the role, but two weeks in, the director's fired. Turns out there's another reason why he had his eye on that other choice. This understandably puts everybody in an ugly mood for a sec, but we land on our feet. Bad news is that when Director duties abruptly get split between the music guy and the dance girl, plus go ahead and throw in extra time pressure, somehow out of desperation they end up crafting a live staged copy of a bootleg video of the Broadway show. III. Ever been at work in retail on a stormy day? No customers, bored out of your socks and in comes a distressed woman of advanced age. She's been patiently waiting out in the rain for her bus and is on the point of tears trying to explain. Clearly she doesn't want us to sell her any window coverings. There's only two of us on staff that day but it doesn't matter. Snicker-snack, into your car you go with her, off to deposit this human being at her safe domicile minutes away. And then, back to waiting out the day. Close up shop and at last go home. Middle of the next week, a thank you note arrives in the mail, handwritten in spidery script. IV. Been so in love with a piece of music in your giant show that you shoehorn yourself into an ensemble uninvited? And then, watch the music director look puzzled, but since he's distracted you just stand there by force of will, and he gives up trying to weed you out. Down toward the end of the row you can glance over at the Main Attraction, and breathe the same air she does and marvel at the sound coming from her. And oh it is so worth it. V. So what do you do when yesterday two hundred and ten pages of bound musical theatre land in your lap? Not through the fault of the person who devised it—but they do speak to you as from the wrong end of a telescope. Excerpts, cavorting and scampering with a sort of childish energy borne of the many years given to his profession soon to be technically, officially left behind. Personal, funny, schmaltzy and a bit too revealing, but all very much deliberate.  So carefully crafted and begun Pre-pandemic, delayed past endurance. And Solo bits, scattered into the mix for anyone to catch hold of, most of which repel me enough to consider dropping out. But I want to be there for the send-off. What is it my mother always said? You're too serious, you should have fun! Does this go back to the fights? Who am I in this scene?