on the scene: District Speech

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         Coming to you live, on scene at the district group speech competitions in Decorah! Our readers’ theatre group just preformed, and I’d say it went pretty well. I wanted to do some pre-performance writing too, to describe the anticipation, the nervous excitement of it, but we performed pretty early, and so I didn’t have time.

         I thought I'd keep this bit preserved. It's the only thing I actually wrote while on site at the speech contest. I guess I should've realized I wouldn't really be blogging while I was there, but I thought I might. I did a little. There is something kind of neat about having something you wrote there, on site, as opposed to here, this evening, on my bed (which is where I always do my homework); it just kind of captures the moment. But anyways, it's Saturday evening again, and here I am, doing my last two blog posts. Next week I shall do better! But for now, I am going to reflect upon/comment upon my day of speeching.

         It is the morning of districts; as your eyes open in the blue-grey pre-dawn quote-un-quote "morning", this thought slowly floats into your blurry mind. You groan a little; it's Saturday and yet here you are, being awoken at the same time you would be on a normal school day. Your subconscious tugs at you, telling you that you ought to still be sleeping, and the shredded, fast-fading remnants of your dreams call you in a quiet voice to return. But it's a little easier to get up today (despite the fact that you were up past midnight last night writing that blog post), because there's a different energy filling you than on a normal school morning, that energy of anticipation and excitement, that knowledge that today is the day you've been practicing for. You dress yourself in your carefully chosen not-costume, as you've taken to calling it, because for reader's theatre you're not allowed to costume, so you days ago you carefully chose something that seemed like what you imagine your character, the wicked queen, would wear, but yet not something that couldn't pass for something you might wear on a normal day (though it is formal clothes, of course (and honestly the skirt you chose for it you dug out of a moving box in your mom's closet, and though it is, of course, yours, you know you haven't worn it in at least three years, as evidenced by its presence in the box, because you just don't wear black skirts when you have purple and pink and blue and yellow ones in your closet, though this black one is still pleasantly twirly (and then you realize you're rambling in parentheses again, but that's just how you do, I guess))). Indeed, you wore this not-costume to school yesterday so you could ask Mrs. Day whether she found it acceptably un-costume-like, because to you the dark, elegant clothes are relatively non-habitual in your wardrobe (as shown by the fact that, as previously stated, the skirt came out of a moving box and hasn't been worn in years (idly drifts off into wondering about what other clothes, and items, may still be in moving boxes here and there about the house)) and at this point perhaps I should abandon the second person tone. At the beginning, this was general enough to work in second person to put you, my readers, in the place of a person on the morning of speech contests, but now I think I need to shift POV to first person, because at this point, this is pretty clearly about me. Unless you also got your black skirt out of a three-year-old moving box and wore the same outfit you performed in today yesterday in order to show it to Mrs. Day for approval (and also because you like the feeling of dressing up for a special occasion, of being in your fanciful Wicked Queen clothes, and because you thought people would perhaps inquire as to why you were dressed as you were, and then when no one really did ask you about it, you were reminded of that conversation Harry Potter and Dumbledore had in movie six or seven or so when Dumbledore goes, "You must be wondering why I've brought you here, Harry," and Harry humorously but honestly replies, "Actually, sir, after all these years, I just go with it," which sort of makes you happy because it's adding to your Luna Lovegood-like image in which everyone just accepts whatever quirky stuff you're doing as just being you, and yet which also makes a little part of you sort of sad that people have just stopped wondering about you, but then you realize that you're reading way too much into why no one asked you about your outfit and that this is getting sort of self-obsessed. And then you realize that it's ten o'clock and you need to BLOG for goodness's sake because you're describing your day and you haven't even left the house yet.) So, 'nyways, first person now.
         I dressed in the blue-black "morning" dark, carefully draping my lacey aged white overshirt atop my inside-out blue t-shirt (inside-out so as to keep it plain, to make it a plain blue shirt rather than a patterned one) and then brushed and carefully pinned up my hair into a fancy-style bun that I fancied to be queen-like. There's an unreality to that morning before the performances, because your group has been working on your piece for so long it seems unfathomable that the performance is actually here, and there's the excitement that you finally get to show what you believe is something pretty awesome that your group has down just about right, and oh look I'm in second person again, oh well, it's a blog post, it's not that formal, and there's the natural nervousness and worry and fear of messing up and not doing things right and not being prepared enough, but all together it's this beautiful blend of happy anticipation that helps lessen your heavy fatigue. So I quickly did up my hair and donned my necklace, bracelets, and ring, popped some cinnamon raisin toast in the toaster, ran around the house like a maniac gathering far too much junk to bring with me, more than half of which I didn't use, double-checked my hair, slid on my snow boots, placing my good shoes in a bag, bundling my coat about me against the cold, running back to the kitchen to retrieve and butter my toast and to snatch a quick juice box, too, and following mom out to the car with all my piles of whatnot draped about me, settling in for the ride to Cresco.
         We were running a little late, which is pretty typical for us. We got there and I bundled up all my whatnot and boarded the already-crowded bus, seeking out a spot. The bus was filled with similar energy to mine; that of excitement and anticipation. Among other things, I learned to make baby foot prints with the side of my hand. I named mine Francois; Jenna had Sophie, I think, ahead of me, and I don't recall what Derick's (who started the idea. Sorry I don't quite know how to spell your name.) was called, across the way. I doodled a cat and read some of LotR, the two towers, part II (I'm almost done). Then, we arrived at Decorah. I gathered my mess of stuff and joined our proud procession into the gym, where our group made camp on the floor by the wall between the two entry doors, as the one set of bleachers that was out was already bustling. Actually, I personally liked the floor, as I think it was easier to set up camp there. I spread out my blanket and pillow, and after thinking a little more, I spread my coat under my blanket as an added layer of cushion, making a comfy little seat around which my spot in camp centered. Beside it I placed my pile of books and notebooks, my snack bag, my spair clothing bag, in which I placed my snow boots and informal pants, (the latter which I never ended up changing into, because it's just fun running around in a skirt all day,) my laptop and my purse, and... was that all my stuff? I think so. Then as soon as I had it sat up, I moved it all again so I'd be closer to my reader's theatre group.
         We did a quick run-through there in the gym. The whole room bustled with the nervous, excited anticipation of many kids from many schools, and sometimes we lost each other's voices in the noisy space, but we had a good run through, and I felt all warmed up and ready. I felt bad for Lydia, who felt under the weather, but I was glad she was there to be our Sonoma. There was a small amount of milling around and just enough time to enjoy one of the delicious chocolate cookies provided and to apply my sparkly lip gloss and for my mom to come and bring me money for lunch before we went to stand outside our performance center.
         The anticipation builds to a head. (I'm glad I'm not worrying about my tense shifts, because I'd have an awful mess to clean up.) We stood in the order we'd go into the performance, first the narrator, then Sonoma, then me, then my mirror. We waited for a while before we went in, hesitating in that state of anticipation. I looked around for my mom, briefly wondering if she'd found the right place, but she was already in the room watching the performance before us.
         Sorry, it's getting late, I need to hurry up.
         So, we went in, sat up, and performed. It was wonderful. I do love doing this stuff, this dramatized reading and performing and stuff. It's tense and can make you nervous but when you're doing it, it's rather magical. It went wonderfully, too. I can't think of anything I did that made me go "oh, woops, didn't mean to do that." I achieved my scream, and I think my malevolent laugh went well. Everyone in our group did splendidly, even our last-minute replacement Wimpy who joined us literally yesterday, the day before performances, because we lost our original Wimpy yesterday, which was quite unfortunate. It was hard not to turn around and watch everyone else in my group going for the first time. I think we did really quite well.
         Which is why later everyone was so surprised when we didn't make it to state. It was so disappointing going up to that results wall and seeing that little II next to Sonoma White and the Seven Dolts under center four. I double-checked several times when I first saw it, making sure the II was with us, and I still didn't want to be right. Everyone else in the first chunk of results for Reader's got a I. When I told my mom that, she was really surprised, because she said that in the performance before our group, she had nearly fallen asleep. Everyone was surprised we didn't make it to state. I suppose I shouldn't be all mopy here. After all, I had a great time, and we did really well, and a II's not that bad, it's just not a going-to-state rating. I think I would be less disappointed if this wasn't my senior year, and I could do better next year, but unfortunately, I don't get to. I hope I make it in individuals; I still haven't made it past districts ever.
         But it's always fun hanging out at speech competitions for the whole day, and I saw some really fun and funny stuff. There's loads of neat performances to watch, and I did so much laughing today. It's great.
         Sometimes I look back at my blog posts and I'm like, what did I even talk about in all that blathering? I think I fairly decently covered my day of speeching, though. Voices came drifting out from beyond the veil of violet mist today, their carefully-emphasized words weaving fantastical and humorous tales and enthralling listeners the corner of the state around.