Dear Diary or A (Show) Day in the Life of a Camel

Friday

11:00 p.m. Dear Diary, today is Friday - the day before the Big Day. You know, Show Day. The day I float onto the stage like a vision of grace, execute every dance move with breathtaking precision, and accept my standing ovation with modest, radiant humility. I have rehearsed. I am prepared. I am unstoppable.

Everything is under control. The costumes fit. The music is queued. My limbs remember what they’re supposed to be doing. The universe and I are, for once, in complete alignment.

Honestly, I don’t even know why people get nervous about these things. What could possibly go wrong?

Saturday

7:00 a.m. I’m up at the crack of dawn because guess what? Yes! Today’s the day! I can’t believe the student show is finally here - I am so excited!

Well, I’ve got plenty of time to get ready. No need to rush. I will begin preparing like the responsible adult that I am: by having a cup of coffee and checking my phone…

9:47 a.m. Quick update. I am still on the couch. Technically, I am “mentally preparing.” Physically, however, I have not moved since 7:03.

The coffee was necessary. The second coffee was strategic. The deep dive into three unrelated social media platforms was… research. One must stay culturally informed before ascending to greatness.

I did briefly consider getting up to start my hair, but then I remembered I deserve to relax before my triumphant performance. Stress causes frizz.

I have to arrive on location at 2:00 p.m., and the tech run doesn’t start until 2:15 p.m.That’s practically another lifetime.

I will stand up now. Immediately.

10:32 a.m. Where the hell did the time go? I am running late! OMG, I need to do my hair and makeup. I’ll start with the hair - this shouldn’t take much time, or effort. I’ve got this!

11:20 a.m. Did you know you can burn your ear and your cheekbone at the same time if you try to curl your hair with hot tools while applying makeup? Yeah, I’m in total awe too.

Well, nothing a few more layers of concealer can’t fix! Wonder if I should mix some polysporin into it…

12:01 p.m. The hairdo does not look like a neglected bird’s nest, despite what my cats think. One of them even tried to investigate by turning my back into a runway. A vertical runway. Going up. Clawing its way skyward to determine whether there was, in fact, a bird on my head.

Should I attempt to apply concealer to my back, or simply show up with scratches and pretend I have an interesting and fulfilling personal life?

12:23 p.m. Dear Mother Nature, WTF? Why - please tell me why - I can’t have two perfectly symmetrical eyes? Don’t give me that nonsense about symmetry being rare and how our brains find perfectly symmetrical faces “weird” and “unpleasant.” This is a bug, not a feature!

All I want is for my eyeliner to look the same on both eyelids. It’s that simple.

And don’t you dare blame it on my unsteady hands - they are more steady than the Cosmic Turtle itself!

12:27 p.m. I figured it out! If I squint my left eye just a little and don’t look up, the eyeliner kind of… sort of looks symmetrical. That’ll do.

It’s time to glue the fake lashes! This should only take a few minutes. I’ll keep you posted.

12:49 p.m. False lashes should come with a warning label: “might cause insanity.”

I just Googled “how to remove lash glue from hair without ruining it” and WD-40 came up as an answer. It didn’t say if it’s safe to use on nose hair, though…

Oh well. Who needs both nostrils to breathe anyway?

12:57 p.m. More eyeliner. The heck with precision! More eyebrows too.

The teacher said it’s better to look like a clown in the mirror than to appear pale and lifeless under the super-bright stage lights.

I can’t tell if I’ve reached the right amount of clown-ness because looking at myself in the mirror is terrifying. I will never watch It again.

1:12 p.m.

Hair and makeup done - whoo-hoo! It’s time to pack and load the car! That should be easy, and I might even have time for another coffee before leaving.

1:37 p.m. Can someone please explain how a medium-sized SUV can fit 3 days worth of camping gear and food for two adults but fits so little dance stuff? It’s not like I’m bringing the supplies for the whole troupe…

I do wonder if I overpacked… Nah. I only have the most essential and necessary items. Yes, all the necessary items. 

It’s Saturday, so traffic shouldn’t be an issue. The drive won’t take more than 10 minutes.

1:59 p.m. For the love of cheeses, what are all these cars doing on the road at this time of day?! It’s like nobody is working in this city!

Oh, right. It is Saturday… Well, screw you, weekend drivers!

P.S. Being five minutes late is practically arriving on time. Public transit uses that excuse every single day, and so can I.

2:06 p.m. Dear Diary…

I left all my costumes at home. All of them. Neatly packed. Hanging on the closet door, each one in its own suit bag.

I need coffee.

2:14 p.m. The wonder-spouse saves the day - crisis averted! The costumes are on their way.

The tech run is about to start. The plan is clear: we run quickly through our number, the tech crew works their magic with the music and lighting, and we’re outta here.

Nothing to worry about.

2:26 p.m. The tech run will commence any moment now… any moment…

I think I’m getting an adrenaline surge from the anticipation alone. Perhaps that sixth cup of coffee was rather unnecessary.

2:30 p.m. On the eighth count… Breathe. Aaaand go!

Where is centre stage? Where is my spot? The lights are so bright I’m completely blind! The music is too fast! I don’t remember the choreography!

And a one and a two… Arms! Step-touch, figure eight… Final pose!

OMG, I’m done!

…What the hell just happened?

2:35 p.m. “Let’s run it again.”

I’m sorry… what? Again? As in, voluntarily?

My lungs are still negotiating with my ribcage. My heart has relocated to my throat. I have just re-entered my body, and we’re doing this again?

Positions! Smile! Eight counts!

I’m starting to question every life decision that led me here.

And a five, six, seven, eight-

3:01 p.m. Yay, the first act of the show has been through its tech run! 

Two more acts to go and we are golden! I’m in one of the choreographies in each act, so I cannot emotionally disintegrate just yet. There’s a lunch break for that.

I need coffee.

3:12 p.m. Our group choreo is next. I should be okay this time around: I know where centre stage is, I know my spot, and I’ve practised the moves so many times I can dance while humming the whole song by myself.

I’ve got this.

3:13 p.m. On the first count - go!

Where is centre stage? Where is my spot? The lights are so bright I’m completely blind! The music is too fast! I don’t remember the choreography!

Five, six, seven, eight - turn, hip circle, turn, hip drop, step left - no, the other left!..

Strike a pose!

…What the hell just happened again?

3:15 p.m. “That was great! Can we just tighten the spacing a bit?”

Tighten the spacing.

I would love to tighten the spacing. I would also love to know where I was standing. Spatial awareness has officially left the building. Possibly hitchhiked home to my costumes earlier.

“Just a tiny adjustment.”

A tiny adjustment. Nothing dramatic. Nothing that requires my brain to re-map the entire observable universe.

Five, six, seven, eight-

If I collide with Janis, we are calling it contemporary fusion.

3:42 p.m. Third act tech run. I’m dancing solo, so there’s literally nothing to worry about. Even if I mess up the whole choreography, no one will be the wiser since they don’t know what it’s supposed to look like.

I am not being overly optimistic when I say I’ve got this.

3:44 p.m. Do I go on four or eight? Damn, I can’t remember!

Ok, I’m going! I’m on stage! Where’s centre stage? Don’t look at the floor! The lights are so bright I’m totally blind!

Smile! Breathe! Breathe? OMG, I forgot how to breathe! I’m going to die!

Bow and exit stage right. 

 3:47 p.m. Dear Diary…

I survived. I think. My limbs are shaking. My brain is shaking. The world is shaking. 

Did I remember the choreography? Maybe. Did I hit centre stage? Possibly. Did anyone notice I forgot how to breathe for a solid five seconds? Probably.

I need coffee…and a nap.  

4:00 p.m. The tech run is officially over, and we are all free to spend the next two hours however we please. The doors open at 6 p.m., and the show starts at 6:30, so there’s plenty of time to relax, recharge, and perhaps run the choreographies one more time backstage.

Time for minor makeup and hair fixes, but before that, I should unpack my costumes and let them hang freely to avoid any wrinkles. 

Surely, this won’t take long.

4:16 p.m. Okay, forget I said “minor fixes.” It seems my makeup felt the gravity of the situation and, instead of stepping up to the occasion, decided to go down and hide under my shirt. There are sweat streaks running down my face and beyond.

I guess there’s a limit to what setting spray can do to prevent this facial meltdown.

Oh well. At least the lash glue is so reliable that I’m still breathing through a single nostril!

Good thing I brought my entire 14-lb makeup kit. I knew I didn’t overpack!

4:41 p.m. At this point, it might be easier to swing by the nearest barber and request the shortest haircut they can accomplish in three minutes than to salvage that… that sweaty, shellacked structure perched on top of my skull. 

The kitties were right all along — it is a neglected bird’s nest.

I briefly considered stepping outside bare-headed and waiting for some enterprising bird to claim it as a fixer-upper investment property. Thankfully, I was reminded that Canada geese nest as well, and I could end up losing more than just hair and dignity if one decided to take possession. I’ll need to devise a solution that involves significantly less wildlife.

5:13 p.m. Makeup - check! Hair - well… check?! Okay, okay, fine, check.

Costumes are unpacked, unfurled, and generously misted with anti-static spray.

Quick lunch, and then the tech run uniform must go.

Sure, it felt glorious to dance in comfy leggings, a sports bra, and a T-shirt during tech run, but now… it’s time for all the sparkle, shine, and glamour of a real dance costume - and maybe a small prayer that nothing rips, falls off, or spontaneously combusts.

5:37 p.m. Four. It takes four people - not including yourself - to carefully peel a sweat-soaked compression sports bra off without taking half your carefully fixed makeup and most of your hair (roots included) with it.

I need coffee.

6:01 p.m. The doors are officially open. OMG, this is for real! This is happening!

What am I even doing here? Why are there so many people - and more keep arriving?

I don’t remember any of the choreographies! Where is the stage? Do I look like a clown? I need to go to the bathroom! I can’t breathe. I can’t blink. I think my face is stuck smiling.

6:30 p.m.

My brain has officially staged a full mutiny.

Do I enter stage left or stage right? Where is the stage? What am I doing here? What is the meaning of life, the universe, and everything? What count do we come in on? Is there a small rock stuck to the bottom of my foot? How does one breathe again?

The smile is frozen in place. Either it’s stage presence… or I’ve had a minor medical event and nobody’s informed me.

Where is centre stage? The lights are so bright I’m totally blind!

Five, six, seven— Oh.

We’re moving.

Well.

Here we go.

6:36 p.m. THIS IS THE BEST THING THAT HAS EVER HAPPENED TO ME.

I did it. I survived.

Did I forget half the choreography? Honestly, I have no idea. But I am vertical, sparkly, and breathing - so I’m calling it a win.

The adrenaline is electric. Backstage is pure joy: hugs, high-fives, “You were amazing!” flying in every direction. Such lovely humans. I love you, people. I love the whole world. I may even love the mysterious rock on the bottom of my foot.

I cannot wait to do it all over again.

Perhaps after the adrenaline peak subsides and my pulse drops below one thousand beats per minute.

I need coffee.

And fireworks.

8:35 p.m. The Final Bow.

We line up in alphabetical order - and my name is next.

The entire show is one glorious blur - counts, costumes, cheers, quick changes, controlled chaos - but the feeling? The feeling is crystal clear. Pure joy. Pure electricity. The kind of exhilaration that hums under your skin and refuses to leave.

I loved every single minute of it.

And I know this buzz is going to stay with me for weeks. Possibly months. Possibly right up until the next triumphant, spine-tingling announcement:

“May I present to you this year’s Shimmy Showcase!”

And honestly? I can’t wait.

Sunday

10:00 am. 

 Okay. So. WD-40, huh?

Can relate? Get in touch and let me know: askauntiehelen@gmail.com