persephone33

Whenever I finish a big project, like the show we just struck yesterday, my body decides that it has a bit of time to not be in top form, and oftentimes decides to shut down.

I wish to tell my immune system in a very stern voice: Now is not that time. I'm jumping into the next project (Victorian costumes!), have to build at least three sets of Victorian undergarments and various and sundry other costume-y type stuff, will spend the next two weekends out of town for a marriage retreat and my 20 year reunion, respectively, I have to make my children's Halloween costumes, finish a quilt for a baby who is nearly two months old, finish promised projects to other extended family members and take care of my family and home on top of it all.

I. Do not. Have time. To be ill.

Also, I have a touch of insomnia tonight. Fun times! So, I did the laundry from the show - extracting tattoo cover makeup from nylon/poly blend isn't as easy as one might think - and read the next play for which I want to audition, had a bath and am now sipping hot milk in an effort to get sleepy.

The play I read is funny. I love plays. That isn't to say that I don't love musicals. I do. But there's something about a play; reading a character aloud and finding the right accent, imagining the scene onstage, plotting out the comedic timing. I love it. It's as comforting as putting on a fluffy robe and curling up on the couch to watch a movie. In this particular play, that character I'd want to play is actually three different characters and have German, Scottish and English accents respectively. A dream for an actress. How much FUN would that be?

Anyway, it's a long shot. One female character, a billion girls who'll show up to audition, yet I'm ever hopeful.

The musical that we just put to bed was a good experience. It was a LOT of work. But I'm glad that I did it, and I'm happy that so many people enjoyed our efforts. It's gratifying, to put art out there and have it be recognized. And once I get the laundry done and the costumes back from the cleaners and put them all away, it'll really be finished.

You see why I don't have time to be sick?

It's fine line, I walk, being an actress over thirty. The day of auditions is spent trying to harness restless energy into something positive, pretending like any outcome of the day is fine, when it really isn't. Any outcome but the one I desire will have me second-guessing myself, my worth, my attractiveness, and my talent.

The day is spent exercising my seriously underused singing voice, praying that I don't forget the words like an idiot when I'm alone in the metaphorical spotlight. Clothes are tried on, discarded, the same outfit goes on and comes off again, several dresses don't make the cut and I end up wearing the very first thing I put on. I paint my face, coif my hair, put on a pair of the highest heels I have and hold my breath.

In an audition, you have to go in pretending like you own the damn room. And I will. I do. My song is fun and flirty, and I walk the line of camp precariously, but since South Pacific is the show I'm auditioning for, it'll work. I have on my lucky underwear (featured last at the US post office) and a big smile.

I'm even bringing a friend who's a MUCH better singer than I am, because I want to introduce her to the theatre. I think it would be a place for her to call home. The selfish part of me wants to kick myself for inviting her, that's one more person I'll have to beat out, but in the end, I know that it's all in God's hands, anyway. He has a plan, and His is the right one.

I doesn't help my queasiness, though. Or lessen my desire for a role.

So I just pretend like it doesn't matter. Because it doesn't.

Only it really, really, really does.

ETA: My shirt has a hole in it and my hair isn't behaving. Damn, damn and triple damn!

I've been banging away at my dgficexchange story this morning. I've got about 5,000 words and only just hit the first plot point.

*sigh* I'm glad there's a word cap this go round. It helps keep things narrowed down so that I don't go down rabbit trails. Or plot bunny trails as the case may be. *har dee har har*

I'm having a crisis of decision: I really want to audition for Grease. It's hands down one of my favorite musicals, and although I'm tired already, it surely would be cool to end the season the same way I began it. With a musical. I've got a song ready and everything, Gershwin's "Someone Who'll Watch over Me." I &hearts that song. It makes me all romantic and squishy.

But there's a girl's trip with Mom & Emily that I want to go on in mid-April, and a Train concert we've been invited to late March.

Plus the aforementioned exchange and everything else in my life that needs doing. It's completely feasable, and Nolan has been supportive of whatever I want to do.

So, yeah. I'm selfish, but I really want to take the chance of being gone for another two months. On the other hand, I might be too old and not get cast. It happens. Though the rumor is the director is going older....

So, yeah. Thoughts?

And anyone willing to beta read my story for the exchange? For typos, plot continuity and Briticisms? Pretty please?

It appears That five days later, our house has been purged of the creeping crud that's plagued us.

*knock wood, sofa, head, laptop, and anything else within knocking distance*

I'm creeping around, having only had Gatorade (not even GOOD Gatorade, but the yucky original yellow crap) for the last 48 hours, and I'm feeling nearly human again.  A hallelujah chorus of 'woot' all around.

The only, and I do mean ONLY good thing about taking the medicine I did, is that it causes hallucinatory dreams the likes of which you only get from LSD. Not that I've ever tried LSD, Mom, because I haven't.  I wig out at too much Advil.  I'm guessing about the LSD related dreams that Hollywood creates?  Okay?  I'm a good girl.  Swear.  With one two three a couple of exceptions. :D  Speaking of, I should probably look at what I wrote while I was high.  It could be scary stuff.

I digress.  I had good dreams.  I had the sort of dreams that you wake up from, have a sip of Gatorade, nod when it appears that it likes its new home in your tummy, and go back to sleep, and the dream picks up right where it left off.

The leading man in my dreams?  Mr. John Krasinski. (Go ahead and give up another chorus of 'woot,' Office fans)

And we were in college; we both lived in my hometown of Irving, Texas (convenient!) and we both lived with our parents.  So it was like having dreams about my high school boyfriend, only taller, scruffier and  a touch racier.  We sneaked out to spend the night with each other - I never did that, either, Mom -  (only cuddling, of course) went to dances together, drove around and talked for hours, and our parents seemed unbothered by it, for the large part.  And he let me use his toothbrush.

It was all terribly romantic. 

*looks at previous part of typed post* 

Okay, maybe I'm not telling it right, but it WAS.  Hey, I'm still in post flu-like stupor.  Cut me a break.  :) 

In totally unrelated news, there are auditions tonight and tomorrow for The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas, for which I'd love to be in the chorus.  FUN show.  Wish me luck.

Went to an audition tonight for Over the Tavern, a family comedy set in Buffalo, NY.

Took Nolan. 

We auditioned for a married couple.

Nolan=West Texas accent.  We tried all afternoon not to make his "I's" so broad.  Varying degrees of success.

Fingers crossed, everybody.

Will work on getting those prizes out this week, haiku people!

*loves*

Twenty-four hours and $162 later, my computer is back and better than ever. (You didn't even have time to miss me, did you?)  It's so FAST!    My personal settings are gone, like the Gmail notifier and the Google taskbar, but I'll live.  I have a new firewall, and 'Spybot - Search and Destroy', which makes me feel all powerful.  I had several viruses and massive amounts of spyware.  Where does all that crap come from?

I did get called back for last night, but I'm not holding my breath.  Twenty plus additional people were there, and I did NOT sing as well as they did.  But, I'm not a singer.  Never claimed to be... and I'm okay with that.  I did sweep the cold readings, if I do say so myself, but they were looking for solid vocal talent, and that ain't me.  I may costume the show instead and get paid lots, LOTS more.  :)  Thanks for all the good thoughts and support, sweet f-list.  I really do appreciate it!