The day is spent exercising my seriously underused singing voice, praying that I don't forget the words like an idiot when I'm alone in the metaphorical spotlight. Clothes are tried on, discarded, the same outfit goes on and comes off again, several dresses don't make the cut and I end up wearing the very first thing I put on. I paint my face, coif my hair, put on a pair of the highest heels I have and hold my breath.
In an audition, you have to go in pretending like you own the damn room. And I will. I do. My song is fun and flirty, and I walk the line of camp precariously, but since South Pacific is the show I'm auditioning for, it'll work. I have on my lucky underwear (featured last at the US post office) and a big smile.
I'm even bringing a friend who's a MUCH better singer than I am, because I want to introduce her to the theatre. I think it would be a place for her to call home. The selfish part of me wants to kick myself for inviting her, that's one more person I'll have to beat out, but in the end, I know that it's all in God's hands, anyway. He has a plan, and His is the right one.
I doesn't help my queasiness, though. Or lessen my desire for a role.
So I just pretend like it doesn't matter. Because it doesn't.
Only it really, really, really does.
ETA: My shirt has a hole in it and my hair isn't behaving. Damn, damn and triple damn!