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.
Posts
As my early Catholic education instructed ... Jesus isn't mad at you. He's just sending you these challenges 'cause he knows you are strong enough to withstand them. Take care of yourself ... perhaps a hockey helmet (with plastic visor) should be a permanent part of your off-stage wardrobe!
ReplyDeleteWhen you're done... Come. Hang out in Minneapolis. Stay in the "in-laws suite" in the basement. Play with the pup. We'll have TaB shipped in.
ReplyDeleteIn the meantime, take care of thy divine self!