Touching base
So my show's almost at the end, and here I am, at three-AM, blogging about it and life in general. I have to say this has been one of the better/odder/and still more stressful productions I've put on. From not having one of our actresses until a week and a half before opening, to having to move out of the theatre in between weekends, to not being sure if we'll break even on any thing, it's been... well... odd.
Not good. Not bad. Just... well... not whatever I was thinking.
I can't really articulate it better right now, I wish I could. It's like having a brilliant and talented child that you just don't understand. I know it's good, and I know it went well (see our review in The Chronicle), but I can't feel the pride I did, say after our first production, or after pulling off the Muses show. I want too. I should. But I don't. Not yet.
Maybe I'm just spread too thin right now. I just started my new job, I still have the old one bugging me for shit, I have the show, and the grant applications due. I have cat/home/bug drama, not to mention the fact that I've officially started the new home search for after the roomie moves out...
One of my bright spots has nothing to do with any of the above. I'm having a blast editing some meta-essays for a "book" project some of my fellow Supernatural-obsessed, LJ-users are putting together. I've been editing some fic of my own that I've neglected for far too long, and I have a few plot bunnies jumping in the background, frantically trying to get my attention. And I do like my new job. At least it doesn't seem to have the stress level that the old one did. (Seriously, any workplace that issues a challenge that results in one of the managers singing, "I Will Always Love You" in the style of Eric Cartman can't be all bad...) And the whole finding a new place to live thing... well I have one definite "in" and probably more if I needed them.
So where does that leave me? OK, I suppose. I'm not stressing, I'm not having any breakdowns, and I don't feel the need to kill anyone. (Although there are some Peeps in my cupboard that are going to meet a grisly demise in the near future, but more on that later.) iS that enough to say my life is good right now? Maybe. Possibly. But I'm enough of a pessimist/realist to wait to make the, "I'm happy," declaration until I have more definitive proof that the rug isn't coming out from under me any time soon.
In the meantime:
Anyone want to tech Filpside this year? There's an extra ticket in it for you.
Not good. Not bad. Just... well... not whatever I was thinking.
I can't really articulate it better right now, I wish I could. It's like having a brilliant and talented child that you just don't understand. I know it's good, and I know it went well (see our review in The Chronicle), but I can't feel the pride I did, say after our first production, or after pulling off the Muses show. I want too. I should. But I don't. Not yet.
Maybe I'm just spread too thin right now. I just started my new job, I still have the old one bugging me for shit, I have the show, and the grant applications due. I have cat/home/bug drama, not to mention the fact that I've officially started the new home search for after the roomie moves out...
One of my bright spots has nothing to do with any of the above. I'm having a blast editing some meta-essays for a "book" project some of my fellow Supernatural-obsessed, LJ-users are putting together. I've been editing some fic of my own that I've neglected for far too long, and I have a few plot bunnies jumping in the background, frantically trying to get my attention. And I do like my new job. At least it doesn't seem to have the stress level that the old one did. (Seriously, any workplace that issues a challenge that results in one of the managers singing, "I Will Always Love You" in the style of Eric Cartman can't be all bad...) And the whole finding a new place to live thing... well I have one definite "in" and probably more if I needed them.
So where does that leave me? OK, I suppose. I'm not stressing, I'm not having any breakdowns, and I don't feel the need to kill anyone. (Although there are some Peeps in my cupboard that are going to meet a grisly demise in the near future, but more on that later.) iS that enough to say my life is good right now? Maybe. Possibly. But I'm enough of a pessimist/realist to wait to make the, "I'm happy," declaration until I have more definitive proof that the rug isn't coming out from under me any time soon.
In the meantime:
Anyone want to tech Filpside this year? There's an extra ticket in it for you.