Only one more day of Charlotte, though it might be enough to push me over the edge as it features a Development Event Late In The Afternoon, which is when I'm at my least friendly, mostly because I don't get to take naps then anymore.
Riddle rehearsals have not [yet] caused our unpaid apprentice to run screaming from the theater world, so that's plus. I don't know what to do with so much eager-to-help energy, though, except remember Young, Eager-to-Help Hannah and wonder where she's been lately.
I need a vacation. Or, more specifically, I need to plan and reserve a vacation. Maybe I really will spend my half of the week sitting in parks, reading British books and feeding pigeons.
I finally heard all of "The Drowsy Chaperone" yesterday evening, and have had it on repeat ever since. (Favorite lyric that doesn't read well, but really really listens well: Six excruciating continents/Antarctica - oh, please)
I'm all out of sorts because we were thisclose to getting flight tickets taken care of...the very vital first step in the London excursion...and now I'm waiting on a credit card to magically reappear from the mail system. In the meantime, the flight that we wanted has gone up in price, so we'll have to go with the next one up (a $60 difference), unless those seats run out before the card shows up.
I just want to get things settled, even beyond flights and lodging and theater tickets for Patrick Stewart and Ian McKellian (the big three items on the to-do). I want to work out when we're taking side trips and what things both Caleb and Kat want to see and how to fit everything on Caleb's to-do list into three and a half days. (Hint: impossible mission)
And, deep down in the pit of my stomach, I'm a little afraid that I'll hate the whole trip and I'll need to rethink the past three years of being in love with a foreign city.
The best thing about bringing frozen goods for lunch later is they keep you cool at the bus stop. Hurrah, instant a/c!
For the half-day I spent at the Rotunda yesterday, I thought the new graffiti across the street said "FFA" and I dreamed up all sorts of future farmer punks with spray cans. Sadly, it's actually "FEA."
Do I actually post anymore beyond post-lets? Survey seems to say no.
To answer [here] the question I've heard a lot today: No, I never got my cheeseburger. But that's okay.
To post [here] what apparently didn't post to my twitter this morning on the bus ride in: Stuck behind a train which is stuck behind a man walking the tracks. What? (I don't understand, either.)
To continue posting in the same ridiculous manner: all the Grace staff who were working post-4 p.m. are very impressed with your ability to nail birthday presents, Mother Dear. I assume that it is only natural, after knowing me for twenty-five (yikes!) years that you would send me a Shakespeare action figure and zombie pet figurines. (P.S. - the bird is my favorite, but the rabbit is a close second)
I'm starting to remember the kind of crazoid life I lived the past two springs when I'd have the regular Rotunda show going on as well as special Miller rehearsals. It does not make me the best person I can be, but I'm hopefully saving all the frustration and angst for when I'm alone in the office and can chew loudly on straws in peace.
What the what is up with me chewing straws lately? Maybe it has to do with this desk, as it came with a pile of straws that the previous tenant had yet to chew (her own favorite stress relief hobby). I'm also not sure whether it is or isn't healthier than chewing gum.
Veering onward (since my phone just buzzed me), I wish I could record an album just to write the liner notes. (You'd think there'd be more thought there, but that's pretty much it. I'd really, really like to write liner notes for something.)
And, while I'm feeling musically inclined: is there any happier lyric than "I'm in love/and it's a sunny day?" (Beatles - Good Day Sunshine) Even if you yourself are not either of those things, you feel a bit better thinking that someone else could be.
I seem to be the last one leaving the theater a lot lately. Matched with my pension for being the first one at the theater, it's perhaps no wonder that I keep so many spare clothes here. And shoes. And bags of candy.
I have a sudden and inexplicable urge to make a joke about tesseracts. I don't know where it came from; it's not like my brain has a stored up wealth of "Why did the tesseract cross the road..." jokes.
A craft project (and possibly bubbles) to anyone who can come up with a decent tesseract joke. Surely there's an ex-mathlete out there somewhere who has some ideas.
I came in to do show reports, but somehow ended up on Facebook photo albums. I don't understand it, either.
It saddens me to think that I no longer have a yearly theatre banquet to look forward to at the end of the season. And--before anyone points it out--Spotlighter Awards does not count, as there is almost a zero chance that people will dance to "Love Shack" by the evening's end.
It's nice that--for once--I got a Future Me email where I had accomplished something I wanted done by this point....rather than feeling all sad for the Past Me, who hadn't seen her dreams done yet. Pat on the back.
Thanks for all the birthday wishes, candy, random singing, wishes from other peoples' parents, more candy, and free sopaipillas (oh, the free, lit with a single candle sopaipillas) that have already come in. I know I'm a little silly about not making a big deal about my birthday, but I really do appreciate all the well wishes. And candy. And free food.
Today, even with the feeling sick during the show earlier, is one of those days when I feel very secure and happy in my life. Happy birthday (and happy happy) to me.
(Fun fact: I drafted out this post while in the kitchen of the theater about an hour ago, updated Facebook, and completely forgot what I'd wanted to say. Behold, the dangers of internet social sites!)
Just to say it--in the last few hours before it actually hits--it's not that I *don't* get excited about my birthday. And it's not (as I told a few people) that my birthdays peaked with the awesome college birthdays I had (hello, sidewalk chalk, pinata, sparkily red sequin dress, and light-up heels!) and therefore no one should ever try to impress me again.
Birthdays are one of the few days of the year* when magical things are supposed to happen to you, whether that means someone [finally!] gives you a pony or simply buys you a meal. People are nicer to you, and there's often cake dropped on your doorstop. Even if the day nosedives into the gravel, you get to remember that you lasted another year...and surely that's enough to make it through one more day.
So, please don't take it personal if you seem more excited about my birthday than I am tomorrow. I'll be bouncy on the inside, especially when I hit the free queso in the evening.
(*other days: Christmas, Black Friday, Groundhog Day)
There's been something swirling around in my head since over the weekend when it plopped in my skull and made me burst into tears (in a *good* way, so don't worry). Sadly, though, I only have eight minutes left of lunch, and--since I was magically off yesterday--I have a huge pile of things to accomplish before tomorrow's auditions. Somehow I always forget my editing (and reediting and re-reediting and...) tendencies before I start a writing project. Must be something about not having papers with due dates anymore.
Would you believe that I've been out of college for three years? (I would, but only because I wear heels to work on a fairly consistant basis, and I certainly didn't bother with that at Truman.)