"Bye, Bye Birdie! I'm gonna miss you so..."
I had to steal a line from Ann-Margret, but her opening track to the 1960s film version of Bye Bye Birdie adequately describes how I feel at the moment. In seventeen days, I will be done performing and rehearsing and singing and dancing. I don't know what I'm going to do with myself. I'm already feeling crestfallen about the whole thing (a character in the book I'm reading described herself as such, so I thought I'd steal from her, too). I mean, this has been my life for the past month and a half. I've woken up every morning either excited about rehearsal or unsure what to do because I didn't have rehearsal. I've fallen asleep to the tunes of A Healthy Normal American Boy, Baby Talk to Me, and A Lot of Livin' To Do more times than I can count. I've spent countless hours thinking about scenes and practicing dance moves and singing songs in the shower or car or while washing dishes. And I've made such great friends! As the eldest member