It hit me yesterday evening, while explaining to Deb why I wasn't at soccer practice, that this illness/allergies thing is just a less severe repeat of junior year of high school. That spring I magically developed allergies (along with a killer cold) right as I was finishing up papers, assistant direction the spring play, and singing in approximately twenty-five vocal groups for district contest. I'm not quite that hard-hit this time, but the similar congestion + throat weirdness started a week into my double scheduled life (and has only grown since).
Ways I medicated (last time): still singing with all my vocal groups, developing sign language to use with actors, nose spray, Claritin, cough syrup
Ways I'm medicating (this time): walking lost in the rain for an hour, making nice small talk with the pharmacy guy, avoiding actors for one night, Mexican Coke, nose spray, Claritin, gigantic pills
I was terrifically pleased with myself for having insurance when I saw the "you saved $xx with your insurance" on my perscription bag...until I remembered how much less the $xx was to my monthly payment.
so people know I'm still alive (without waiting two weeks)
I originally set up a Twitter account (the program that only allows 140 characters per post, so it's just for quick updates) when I thought I was going to spend a week in New York and would want to update the world on the sights around me. That didn't quite happen, but I might as well use it for the everyday posting, seeing as I never seem to post for real without a five year gap anymore. It'll be there in the right column until I either run out of text messages or start regular posting again.
Last night I dreamed that Melissa, Meredith, and I were in London, exploring a magnificent garden (that also happened to be sixty feet off the ground and feature a gift store with an amazing amount of Missouri memorabilia) facing Big Ben. (I also dreamed that an 1800s James McAvoy married me in a wedding officiated by JCG, but I don't even want to begin analyzing that.)
London has been on my brain lately, and not just because of soccer practice bringing it up every week night (and some weekends, as I do paperwork). My iPod keeps playing Sweeney Todd and Jekyll & Hyde, both set in the glorious city. I can't walk around my own apartment without seeing some mention of the Brits, from pictures and prints on the walls to titles in my DVD collection. More importantly, I've had questions/comments from people at work, people that I didn't realize knew about such things, about when I thought I might try to move to London.
The knee-jerk answer, of course, is three days from now, depending on how quickly I can find boxes and a storage rental place. The realistic answer becomes more complicated (and slightly depressing), what with its talk of exchange rates, work visas, dual citizenship taxes, and the distance across the ocean.
The distance from everyone I currently know would be the biggest deteriment right now, mostly because it's something I'd have to get over to start considering the others. It's hard enough trying to meet up with family and friends currently (as in: while we're on the same continent) where I can pull a quick long weekend by plane, if needed. Considering I seem to average two trips out of state per season in Texas, I can't see how my rate would improve when faced with $600 10ish hour flights. (Think about that one, Mom, the next time you're sad that this duckling is so far away. Actually, you probably already do.)
On the other hand, whenever I think about *not* moving to London, I get the same ache in my stomach that I used to feel every time I thought about ditching theater to do something else. And, as long as that keeps popping up, I'll keep checking exchange rates.
I've apparently been asleep for the past three years, given the number of emails, voicemails, and text messages I've gone through this morning. Other proof of this idea, the conversation I had with myself last night, reading in bed:
You're about to fall asleep. -I know. Don't you want to turn out the light first? -Would I have to move? About a foot and a half. -How about we compromise, and I just take my glasses off? ...Yeah, okay.
Thus, how I woke up this morning with lights on, magazine in hand, and glasses on my night stand.
It's been a long week (no, really, Hannah?), but a mostly enjoyable one. All the freaking out I did this time last week hasn't played out ("yet," as one might say). I just don't know how to tactfully tell people that I'm tired, now that I have a day to finally crash, and thus am probably about to go running just as much as any other day this week.
Sorry, I've suddenly become extremely busy. The MO crew came and went (and are apparently off spraining ankles now, silly people), but only after they experienced both the Houston sun and metro. I came back to season renewal season, which was a special gift from the box office. People keep asking me how rehearsal is going before they remember that I am not queen of the Rotunda right now. Fortunately, I've found plenty of other crazy to fill the time (key items of my life currently: jokes about being "on the list," jokes in code, vagueness).