All the world's a stage and all the men and women merely players. So what's playing at the St. Paul Theater today? A drama? Comedy? Murder mystery (more common at the Minneapolis Revue, from what I hear)? Lately, my personal storyline has stalled in the equivalent of a long-running sitcom's mid-season rut. My days and weeks are laid out in orderly fashion, each one resembling the last. The challenges of the past months (the season premiere, if you will) seem not so daunting any more. The tide of anxiety and self-doubt is making its exit. However, waiting in the wings to enter stage right lurks a new player, a member of the supporting cast beginning to break into the forefront of the action: loneliness.
Undoubtedly, St. Paul is now my home, and as Dorothy asserted, there's no place like it. However, there's no people like family and no substitute for a much-needed hug every now and again. I may not be homesick, but I am most definitely people-sick (not to mean that I'm sick of people, though that may often be the case, but for people).
As the star of this drama (or maybe director, at moments when I feel a bit more in control of my own destiny), I feel obligated to, like the real stars do, thank those people, my supporting cast, without whom my role in this adventure of a new life and vet school would never have happened. They're the ones who flesh out my story lines when I as a writer can't come up with decent material (it's amazing how entertaining one's parents become when they take up hobbies to alleviate the empty nest syndrome), who toil away behind the scenes to make sure everything is held together, who pray and call and send cards and give love from half a world away. Thank you and God bless you to everyone who helps me keep it together when my hold on my responsibilities, work load, and sanity is tenuous and I feel as if this grand production in which I star is about to "jump the shark."