As of the moment I started writing this, whoever is the next person to view this blog will be the official 1000th Visitor to Origami out of a Refrigerator. I’d love to have some kind of contest, but a) I have no real way of figuring out exactly who is the 1000th visitor;  b) it’s not like I can afford a prize; and c) chances are, it’ll be The Mom, anyway, and she gets the prize of picking me up at the airport tomorrow night.

It has been a very odd day for me. Maybe it’s the result of that whole full moon AND a lunar eclipse AND the winter solstice. But it’s been a day of seeming so long yet going by so fast; a day that I accomplished a fair amount of my to-do list, yet I feel like I did nothing but sit around all day (which is entirely untrue – I even left the house to run errands). I did laundry (though I still need to do my sheets tomorrow), I did dishes, I got some knitting done (though not enough), I went to Macy’s and Eddie Bauer Outlet and Tags and Shaw’s and Dunkies. And yet…I have cookies to bake, emails to reply to, straightening/vacuuming/sweeping/mopping to do. And packing. All before 6pm tomorrow.

I am definitely going to have to leave the country while I’m in Buffalo. Okay, Niagara-on-the-Lake, Ontario doesn’t exactly have the same feel as Belize. But the point is that I have the ability to leave the country. Even if it does annoy me that I now need a passport to do so – not only do I remember the days of crossing the US/Canadian border and maybe needing your birth certificate (which I used to keep in my glove compartment, in case of an impromptu need of Aero bars), I remember when it was a toss-up as to if they’d even ask for your license. Hell, there were times when I wasn’t even asked my citizenship.

Today, I found myself wondering if I need to take a tap class again, in order to regain any kind of faith. Or start reading Christopher Durang plays. Let me explain, before you pull out your list of Reasons Why Amanda is a Wack-Job (how many are you up to, anyway?).

Eleven years ago, at the end of the fall semester of my senior year of college, I was under a hell of a lot of stress – auditions for spring semester shows, projects for classes, rehearsing the one-act play I was directing (“The Hardy Boys and the Mystery of Where Babies Come From,” by Christopher Durang), and I was also about to lose my part-time job at the mall (through no fault of my own – the company had filed for bankruptcy and the store was closing).

I went to my morning tap class, worrying not only about everything going on, but also about single pull backs. We’d been doing them in class for weeks and I could not get my feet to do them.  As I waited for the rest of my classmates to show up, I sat there thinking, You know, God, if I could get just one pull back, I’ll know that everything is going to be okay.

During class, we lined up to du pull backs across the floor, as usual. And as usual, I was dreading it. Finally, my turn came and I just attempted to get it over with. Except halfway across the floor, there was a different sound coming from my feet, and the look on my instructor’s face was sheer amazement. I had gotten a pull back – just one. And I never got another one.

And everything was okay – my final projects were fantastic, my one-act was amazing, and I was cast in one of the spring shows. And I said that because of this experience, I would never doubt the existence of God.

Except, of course, things happen. Life happens. And you question everything from the existence of a higher power to whether or not the cake is a lie.

Fast forward to spring 2008. I was auditioning for a double-bill of Christopher Durang plays, including Sister Mary Ignatius Explains it All For You. Now while I love religious satire, there’s a monologue in this play that could make everyone at Fox News question their faith. And one morning while riding the Green Line, I found myself truly questioning the existence of God and leaning towards the side of non-belief.

As it happened, I was also taking a tap class, and had class that evening. And what did my instructor announce we were learning that night? Pull backs.

I shrank to the back of the room, practicing at the barre, as she had my classmates try them, one by one. It was a low-intermediate level class, and I’d been the best dancer in the class so far; I was about to lose my crown. When she got to me, I explained that this was my biggest tap nemesis. But I went for it.

I hit every. single. one.

Yeah, complete and utter shock.  After my instructor moved on to someone else, I recalled my earlier ponderings on the T. All I could do at that point was glance up at the ceiling and think, Okay! I get it!

There is a larger point to all of this, but it’s going to have to wait.