Returns (many I hope)

I turn 25 this Sunday. The quarter century mark feels nice. It's a good solid number. And young. To mark the occasion, I've signed up for an improv class at The Annoyance on Broadway. A good friend of mine took the class and recommended it highly. It's my version of a massage, I think. An eight week massage. Now that's deep tissue. I had just been lamenting the other day how I missed being in the theatre, the layers of dirt and oil on props, the spills, errant petticoats and corsets, the heat of the stage, feeling utterly secure in my insecurity. This will be only a class, only a close approximation, but the urge to perform has been with me, even as my opportunities to do so have been few.