Calgon, take me away.

I need a hot bath. No, of course I shower every day. I mean like a Jacuzzi. A nice, hot, relaxing, bubbling cauldron of water. Time has been my nemesis and will not provide enough hours in a day for everything I need, particularly – relaxation! It’s hell week again. Another opening of another show on Friday. Tech/Dress ran ‘til about 11 pm last night and after racing home to jump under covers for a few hours, the ol’ nemesis had me up a few hours later at 5:00 so I could drag my loyal ass to my accounting desk. Now, I challenge you to do that every day for a week and try to disagree with the term, “Hell Week.” Methinks I’m getting too old for this. I envy young performers without families or a day job who can engage in debauchery every night at the pub after rehearsals or a show. As for me, I miss my girls. Haven’t seen them since Thanksgiving. I hear they’re doing well, though. They never write or call. I just see traces of their existence every evening at midnight when I arrive home and find their toys scattered throughout the living room and trailing down the hallway like breadcrumbs to their bedrooms. I think about them every morning when I step on squeaky-duck as I blindly wander through a dark house toward the auto coffee maker. If ever Mr. Coffee breaks down my proverbial goose is cooked. So with my nemesis having a firm grasp on my schedule he prevented me from warming up and stretching out before the run through last night. Right as we ended Act I doing a little Burly Q number with choreography I felt my weary back give out and give up. “Can’t take it anymore,” it said, “I’m checking out.” So I spent the intermission break flat on my backside coaxing it to make it through just one more act. “I promise there will be no more bevels, step-ball-changes, boogie-woogie shoulders, or quick-fast costume changes,” I lied. “Just get me through the next act and I’ll give you some ice cream when I get home, eh?” Well, my back cooperated and got me through Act II, so I imbibed with a nice, healthy bowl of Rocky Road at midnight. Would’ve been nicer were I eating Rocky Road in a Jacuzzi. I’ll send a letter to Santa & see what he can do.