The stories we tell come in unexpected places.
The director likes to refer to our show as piece of a bigger story, each of us just the scrapbook cuttings of a bigger collage that will (come one week!) be glued together well enough so that we don't fall apart.
I don't know what my story is, if I'll find it in facial expressions, or buried knee deep in props and costumes, or cradling a lacrosse stick before flinging the ball-child in search of another mother.
Maybe it will be through writing? My thoughts have gotten mumbled. Unmumble them please!
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