Dear List

One thing is for CERTAIN. I should not be blogging. I should not be blogging because my house looks like I have neither dusted nor vacuumed since the first of the year. We are coexisting with a layer of clutter that has asserted its residence so successfully it may as well pay the mortgage. This morning I have finished the Little Women program, made a ticket sales sheet so that Playscripts doesn't sue me, made a Costco shopping list for concessions, added more things to my To Do List than I crossed off (would someone explain why that always happens?) Emailed the Ramona Sentinel who is covering the show for free (YAY for free). Listened to the Wicked and Godspell soundtracks in their entirity--while I worked, mind you. Coordinated some set piece delivery situations, and contemplated, on more than one occasion how crud hard this is--being director and producer. The past two nights I have not been able to fall asleep until well after one because I lay there and 62 billion thoughts cross my mind about how to do this or that, how to have so and so say such and such, what to do about situation one, situation two, situation three and how to avoid situation four altogether.

It's really perplexing how this theatre business gets in your blood. I feel exhausted and overwhelmed and stressed and at the same time energized in ways that only drama can provide. As I sat at the computer I contemplated throwing my actors out the window because COME ON AND MEMORIZE YOUR LINES ALREADY. But then, the finale on the Godspell soundtrack came on. And when those "Long live God" repetitions come on, I remember every reason I do this. And I thought about Beth's dying scene and how if everything comes together, if a set gets built, if the lines get memorized, if the lights--which are currently deciding to have a neat lightning effect where lightning is NOT wanted--actually work...it's going to be a moving scene. Oh shoot, that reminds me, I need to go check the script because there's a logistical error and we may have a VERY quick change on our hands. Ashby...I need you. I have to go...

Dear My List,
Please Stop Getting Longer. The end.

Signed,
The One Who Is Going Crazy