(for days when the insecurity tries to burrow in)

It's nice to hear from actors who want to steal me for all their future productions, like some sort of portable, personal stage manager.

I have so many things to do. But also, sleep?

* Four auditions in four days - DONE.

* There's still three performances left this weekend.

* I keep trying to fall asleep with pencils still up in my hair. It doesn't work well.

* Must figure out a way to fall asleep with heat on lower back, but cool everywhere else because this is still Houston in June.

ACTORS!

I wish there was an industry standard number of stupid questions and/or ridiculous emails I could receive from a single actor before I could rescind their audition privileges. "Sorry, Timmy. That's the third time you asked about the audition start time, despite it never changing. I answered the first two instances, but now I'm invoking the 'Stage Manager Ain't Got Time for That' rule, and your slot will now go to someone with reading comprehension skills. You are on six months probation, and we *do* keep a list."

Of all the people who's life you should want to make easier, actors, it should be the stage manager.

the plus of bringing a computer to work is you can answer emails on one while answering other messages on the other - at the same time

Today's rehearsal:

* Actors trying to do the fight choreography in socked feet because they didn't want to wear their shoes. It's okay, they're only wielding a metal dagger and a large wooden dowel rod. (This is maybe why the under 14s shouldn't have been in the big battle.)

* A frantic actor tracking me down in the house, because the large puppet just partially snapped one arm. It's okay, the rig still functions and the other leg can still do the proper movements.

* Loud cracking sound less than an hour later, as same puppet slipped a shoulder strap, causing wearer to awkward try to get free ... and accidentally snap the other puppet arm, nearly all the way. This is less likely to be solved with wood glue and gaff tape.

* Shield is actually injuring actor's hand, because irony is at work in tech week.

* Lamppost is finally pulled from its shipping box to be assembled. It is over-glittered, has a warning sticker that its construction materials have been known to cause cancer, and the globe top is broken.

* Got to buy a back brace for a twenty-something, because it's hard to be a unicorn on stilt legs.

Y'ALL.

Thirty-three has been nothing but stress. [I mean, it's not 33's fault. It's like how 27 was my year of being super awkward. (I look back and cringe about so much that occurred that year.) But still. Anyway. So far, nothing but stress and re-reading favorite books. The one is sadly not helping the other.]

Anyway, back to emails and paperwork. See you at first rehearsal in ... ten hours.

Is it weird to really only listen to Jesus Christ Superstar at Easter?

'Tis the time of year when I'm reminded of the summer of 2005, as people spent multiple weeks calling out a continual stream of "HO-Hannah! HEY-Hannah! Hannah! Hannah! Ho!"

[This joke makes zero sense if you don't know what song I'm referencing. Sorry about that.]

I've had a real desk in my office for about a week, and the only drawer that's actually set-up and full is the snack drawer.

That feels accurate.


Productions I've Worked On During the Past Week, When I Want to Look Back and Remember Why I Was So Tired
* John, His Story / Easter (SM)
* You Can't Take it With You (Production Coordinator / SM that day the SM had the flu)
* Godspell (Auditions Coordinator / Emailer of All The Things)
* Charlotte's Web (moving set pieces)
* Lion, Witch, Wardrobe (SM, preliminary audition emails)

Oh. Um. Hi there, 2017.

A conversation.

CLERK: Do you want sauce with that?
ME: Definitely.
CLERK: What kind?
ME: Chick-fil-a. Of course.
CLERK: How many do you want?
ME: As many as you'll let me have.
CLERK: [pauses] What?
ME: Or as many as your supervisor will let me have.
CLERK: Uh, ten?
ME: Wow, really?
CLERK: The machine lets me go up to fifteen.
ME: Surprise me, then.
CLERK: [Pauses, again.] Okay, twenty.

He was not allowed to give me twenty CFA sauces. I think we both knew how this was going to end.

However, I did walk out with the equivalent of one sauce packet per nugget, so here's to the fancy ramen and improved late-night chicken nuggets in the weeks to come!

(So, no wonder I'm always so tired in January)

You know you work for a repertory theater company - with the same basic schedule every year - whenever several years worth of "On This Day" posts on Facebook suddenly all become about tech week.

Today in "Things I Learned About the New Building" News:

The audio installation guys tape sugar packets inside the cabinets to aware each other (or themselves, if they're feeling sassy) for "sweet cable jobs".

There are two packets inside the booth system.

Other people probably already have one labeled "Hannah being Hannah"

One of these days I'm gonna create an email folder labeled "Being a Busybody" or "Pointing Out Mistakes" or "Asking Leading Questions So Others Make the Same Conclusion" for all the times I see something in an email / webpage / memo / general aura around someone and Stage-Manager-Spidey-Sense kicks in.

I wonder, do the DH shudder when they receive something from me beginning with the usual "I was looking at [ ] when I noticed..."?



(Oh, man. The formatting on this post is *all over the place.* I would probably send myself an email.)

all the/small things

I've just placed an incredibly detailed temporary tattoo of a catfish on my left foot.

- Man! I found some weird things while cleaning out Missouri boxes from my younger years.

- This is not the first time I've pulled from my temporary tattoo collection (or applied a weird color of nail polish or dragged out kiddie-ish jewelry or ...). Sometimes you feel a difficult time coming along, and want to try to get ahead of it psychologically. In my case, that equals sparkles and colors (and, yes, catfish) or anything else that can bring me joy when it pops into my head in the middle of a moment of stress.

So. Catfish on foot. When I flex my toes, it sorta looks like it's swimming - and I'll ride on that joy all first rehearsal.

Future self, just look at the post date on this and you'll remember.

Y'know, eating all that pizza *did* help my mood!

(Oh. Hey there, blog.)

I just finished re-watching the first season of Gilmore Girls, and my mind's a little blown that I watched the original run at Rory's age ... and now I'm Lorelei's age.

OH MY GOODNESS. I want to chew off all my fingernails so much, except I've managed to keep them intact for over a month and also I'm thirty-two, so maybe this shouldn't be so hard.

I'm working on a thing ... clearly.

"The timing will never be perfect."

Actually, that's all I want to say.

On discount, of course. I'm from the Midwest.

I had a rough, exhausting weekend ... so I bought a season of Doctor Who. That's what adults do with their money, right?

I woke up more worn out than I'd gone to bed, and it's all Spiderman's fault.

[I have no idea what led to me dreaming up Spiderman singing "Don't Rain on My Parade" and other showtunes as some sort of event for Cooksey, but there you go.]

If you stand in my bedroom at the exact right time of day, there's a small patch of sunlight - about two inches or so - where the light creaks in between the blinds and curtains. I like to stand with my big toes together, grasping all the light I can before it shifts out of focus for another day.

Meanwhile, four stuffed bags of clothing, etc. just left my apartment for Goodwill. Hurrah!

Guess who found her very first pair of show blacks (the shirt with the silver snaps that were probably actually a poor choice for backstage-wear! the pants with ALL the pockets and the nifty zipper on the side where the mini flashlight clipped on) while cleaning out closets and had to take a pause.

I need to pick up a hope chest, because I think that's precisely where you store clothing that you aren't planning on wearing again but emotionally cannot bear to part from. Though I think other people use them for wedding dresses and baby clothes, while I'd currently be housing my all-time favorite blue jeans and the capris I remember wearing on my first day as a theatre major and summerstock employee.

first day of the season

I've been home from work for multiple hours, and yet I'm still in the dress I wore to look nice for intern orientations.

Is it some sort of maturity I've reached at this point in my life, where I didn't feel the need to immediately change into pajamas upon closing my front door for the last time today?



'Course not. For once I tied a non-wonky bow with the sash, and I don't want to undo solid work.