I apologize for the two-week hiatus. I will explain.

Two weekends ago, I played the role of Sir Andrew Aguecheek in Leftend Productions’ Twelfth Night. After a month-and-a-half of preparation, I was finally able to step on stage and reap the benefits of all my hard work. At long last, I had an audience who could enjoy my performance and appreciate all the effort I had put into fine-tuning every aspect of my character. My perfectly-timed jokes were rewarded with laughter. My breathtaking sword fights were met with laughter. My solemn moments of introspection were regarded with laughter. It was everything that I had hoped.

Of course, I had a raging fever the whole time and I barely remember any of it.

You see, working long hours in close quarters with a group of actors is a fantastic way to become very sick. In my case, I contracted what seemed to be a simple cold, which then turned into a fever, which then turned into a sore throat, which then turned into a horrible cough, which then turned into my mom making me go to the Walgreens clinic, which then turned into me not being able to figure out the touch-screen-appointment-scheduler-thing at the Walgreens clinic, which then turned into the nurse practitioner telling me just to come in and filling out the form for me, which then turned into a sinus infection.

This meant that my first performance after my triumphant return to the Chicago theatre scene was given through a thick DayQuil-induced haze. I drifted across the stage, delivering my lines in what I believed was the correct order and contorting my face into my best attempt at “expressions.” I felt simultaneously as if I were separated from everyone else by several layers of Saran wrap and as though as I was watching someone else’s lovely production of Twelfth Night on TV. It was truly acting at its finest.

However, laughter is laughter and applause is applause, and by the end of each performance, I still found myself thoroughly enjoying an actor’s high. I always had enough adrenaline to propel me home and into my basement, where I would take my celebratory shot of Robitussin and happily pass out.

It is an old adage in theatre that, no matter what happens, the show must go on. If you are sick and in theatre, you will be told, “The show must go on!” over and over again, because, although you are already certainly aware of this grim fact, it’s always fun to kick an actor while they’re down. But, in truth, if you are an actor, you will find that no matter illness plagues you before a show, once you step on stage, you will forget it until curtain call. Unless, you know, it’s something really serious, in which case the show must not go on and you must get to a hospital.

There are exceptions to everything.

Anyway, thank you so much to everyone who came out to my show. Actors are fueled by their audience, and I’ve had a lot of good friends and family powering me through these weekends.

If you’ve missed Twelfth Night so far, there is still one more weekend. I will be in the diminished roles of the captain, officer, and priest, but I promise, it’s still a pretty decent show. If you really can’t make it, I will be in more shows soon. Even sooner than you might expect….

Tune in next week.