A Girl Can Dream

1 pm CST.  Friday, February 24, 2012.  Chicago, IL. 

It has been 49 days since 1 pm CST on January 6, 2012, when the powers-that-be first spoke to me and said this:

"The TC has determined the date for your Level 3 admission audition at the end of this term.  You will be auditioning on Friday, February 24^th from 4:00- 6:00pm in the Skybox Theatre.  There is no alternative audition date."  

The booming e-voice of fate.  This, ladies and gentlemen, is a big, big day. 

For those of you not inclined toward basic math, 4:00 pm is in about 3 hours.  At that time, I will file into a theater on North Wells Street with 60 to 80 other adults.  I will perform one, two-minute three-person improvised scene and take part in a five-minute improvised montage.  Based on my performance during these tasks, I will or will not be offered the opportunity to pay $1200 more of my savings and 120+ more hours of my ever-shrinking life in exchange for these words on my resume:

"is a graduate of the Second City Training Center."

This is exactly what I've been waiting for: the chance to be both busier and poorer in exchange for more meaningless accolades.*  I'm so amped about what this exciting new future may hold that I'm already practicing living in it.  I turned down $100 worth of work to accommodate the opportunity to be at Second City this afternoon.  And if they like me . . . if they really, really like me . . . maybe I'll get to do that every day of my life.    

Oh, boy.  Oh, boy.  Oh, boy.  I hope they like my 3 minutes of stage time.  I really, really do.  My whole present may just hinge on this moment. 
  
-----

* I wonder where I put that college diploma . . .