While I didn’t have to play the mute mushroom-boy at the corner of the stage behind everyone, as is usual in these things, my début as an actor this evening could have gone better. However, I could sing to an audience, and that instantly made everything better, and the audience did appreciate my song.
I have said so before, but I feel that I have a strange kind of split personality. In normal life I am the quiet type that sits at the edge of the group and observe the goings on. I respond to questions, but don’t generally lead the talking and the doings.
When I am on stage, this timid and a little shy normal Colin is, like a Dr Jekyll becomes a Mr Hyde, transformed into stage-Colin. Stage Colin has a far greater swagger to him than the normal Colin does. In fact, airing this Mr Cool is something that I often want to do. I live for it, sometimes. I can shed my normal awkward form, and pretend to be this amazing and outgoing personality.
The only thing is that it’s over so quickly. Stage-Colin emerges in the breathless agony of the pre-performance nerves, takes over, and then time itself becomes different. It flows faster, and I’m more aware than I am at any other time. I swear, I could smell a single hair from a mile, and I could tell one photon apart from another from across a room. Those moments are like magic, but they are over so quickly.
The time after a performance is like after a good night on the town, or dare I say it after good sex. I’m relaxed and happy and content with the world, and those many little questions that plague my head throughout a day are curiously absent. It’s like there’s a glow inside that linger for hours and hours. It is a legal high, so is it any wonder that I jump at the chance to get it?
When Mark came to fetch me after, I was floating on a little cloud of contentment. This has been a good night, and I’ll say like the little girl in Interview with the Vampire from the 1990s: I want some more.