every time I complain about having work, an angel dies.

That's what my cousin Kate said last weekend. We were catching up. Comparing hectic schedules. I'm gonna write it again, 'cause I've been saying that ever since I heard it.
Every time I complain about having [too much] work, an angel dies.
That being said, I'll do my 90th and final Midsummer tomorrow morning, followed by a surely modest closing party with people I love and will miss so, so, so much. Then the next morning begins the next show. Right now it seems like the biggest, the most daunting yet. Adventure.

Also I auditioned for the remake of Nightmare On Elm Street today. O Nurse #2, I FEEL the nuances of your character. You WANT Nancy to have the painkillers. I KNOW.

I think part of the reason I've been so lax about this blog is that I've spent nearly every day crammed into a 15-passenger van with 4 bench seats full of funny, talented, dedicated, delightful and openhearted jerkface actors. Who do things like this:

In the meantime I'm fighting off a cold. "Fighting off" being the part where I am clearly pinned to the mat and being pummeled, but keep spastically jerking my lower back up so I can't officially be counted as down. I even went to see my doctor, a German woman named Collette.
Me: I'm mostly worried about getting through the final performances with my voice so weak from the coughing. I'm running, jumping, and speaking - and the theaters are really large.

Doctor: Ah yes, and the theaters are very filled with dust.

Me: That's right, they really are.

Doctor: Well. I can do nothing about that. And you should just be glad you are performing, yes?

1 comment:

David D. said...

From the scene at the end, I don't know that I could really sense what the Doctor wanted as clearly as I KNEW that Nurse #2 wanted to give Nancy the painkillers. Could you have the Doctor take it back and try it again?