I Wonder Why

I am knocked out. Honestly, on my ass. Spent the last couple of days feeling stoned and let me tell you...I ain't stoned.

And then I looked at my work schedule of the last couple of weeks...

Week 1 (which included being thrown on in a show I'd never seen with 5 hours of rehearsal) = 55 hours.

Week 2 = 60 hours.

Week 3 = 55 hours.

Week 4 (wherein there was no day off and we saw Ye Olde Pass Out and Break Face on Bureau Trick. And lest we forget, my period.) = 60 hours.

Don't blame my union. When I arrived in Pittsfield I accepted a freelance job thinking I had oodles of time. Then I double contracted up here. Couldn't pull out of the freelance gig at that point. And Equity has no rules about double contract meal breaks, hours of rest, etc. The powers that be did the best they could with what little me they had.

And I worked out five days out of eight.

I laugh because this was supposed to be my work vacation. Small role, big mountains, huge spirit.

But today I lie in bed, corset-free, listen to the rain, read "Atonement" and drink Diet Cherry Dr. Pepper.

What? No TaB?

I seem to have imbibed all the TaB in the Berkshires. There is no more.

Why does Jesus hate me? Can't he pull a little surreptitious transmogrification for Ye Olde Tizmeister? Just this once?

Slurp.

Faintsville

I passed out at 6 am this morning. This is not a common occurrence for me. Basically, once a decade. So I should be good-to-go until 2020 or so.

Hoo-weeeee!

What caused it? Probably the G.I. distress that ripped 4 pounds off me in less than a minute…quite exciting. What caused the G.I. distress? Could have been the corset I’m sporting for the skit. Could have been a wee pesky ovarian cyst bursting. Or a delightful cocktail of the two.

My 1990s fainting spell coincided with Poppy being given his first stress test. That one and only stress test ended with him in the operating room getting a triple by-pass. When I say coincided I mean I was in Germany while he was in Connecticut. Exact same time. Not that six pm RAPTURE time crap, but proper six-hour-difference-time-zone-time. I think we may have been connected.

Perhaps this morning Poppy was slapping me upside the head wicked hard. I wonder what I’ve done to offend?

And what is the Heaven-Pittsfield time zone difference?

As I lay on the floor for an hour after my face slammed into the bureau in an unceremonious fashion, I bemoaned my fate, “If I was married, there would be someone to pick me up of the floor. If I was married, maybe the poor sod would have even helped me off the can so I never would have passed out at all!”

I went through a similar self-pitying monologue about a decade ago when I choked on a piece of chicken. That was the fainting spell of the aughts...after self-heimliching on the third-floor banister of my building. (I got cheers from the ER attendants, “How wise of you not to die!”)

Ten years ago, I was in desperate need of Henry Heimlich Husband at 4:30 in the afternoon. No husband of mine would have been home at that hour anyway. And this morning? Well, right now I’m cohabitating with six other people. SIX! Not a one heard the mighty oak topple. If I was married, Freddy Faint Fiance wouldn’t have heard it either.

So, I sit in bed. A little creaky. A fat lip. A gash in my nose. Icing all with frosty cans of TaB.

I'm pretty sure it wasn't supposed to be this way, but it is and I’m not going to involve myself in THAT monologue. I’d rather drink the beloved TaB, meditate and watch a wee bit of Izzard.

Truth

Not everyone can see the truth, but everyone can BE the truth. - Franz Kafka