In The Arms Of An Angel

THANK FUCK THAT'S OVER.

Me hearties, no more shall I stress that my combat gear is too big. Nor shall I get upset when I can't remember to put my boxing gloves on properly. Nor shall it be a problem that my bra won't stay on properly. Actually, it probably will be. But that is BESIDE the point. Not on it. Or in front of it, but slapbang next to it, and certainly not in the right place.

Ehehehe.

We are FUCKING FINISHED.

Ehehehehehehe.

AND it all went pretty smoothly, if you ignore the fact that I corpsed on stage not once, not five times, BUT THREE WHOLE TIMES. At bits I was most definitely not supposed to corpse in.

Example:

Gemma: Call him what you like, bum bandit, fudge packer, raider.. rec... um...
Rozza: I think you mean rectum raider, mate
*Cassie, who is supposed to be distressed and upset, absolutely cracks up, and nearly wees herself on stage*.

Ahh. Sigh.

It's finished. I don't have to spend my lunch times rehearsing. Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah. I feel so free. And easy. Well not quite. But I am ramblicious tonight, non? Ehehe. I blame the caffeine pill. Damn you, Amber.

The other group's went brilliantly too, and it made me cry againnn. So good. And groovy. And ahh.

It's alright, I've nearly stopped gushing.

There.