"The baseless fabric of this vision..."
Okay, so my projected schedule was a little off. I'm commencing with the wigging-out now.
It's been one of those tech weeks. I'm still missing costumes and pieces of costumes. We have tonight off, and one rehearsal left, and my poor actors are crawling towards the end of their patience. Me too.
Oh, please, please, you gods of artifice, don't let my play look like ass.
I was good, though. I didn't lose my shit, I didn't come home and get drunk and listen to the Smiths, I didn't take it out on random pedestrians. I understand that this sort of thing happens, and that it's better for it to happen now than, say, tomorrow. So I retain at least a workable grasp on my sanity.
On the other hand, as my Faithful Assistant Peter pointed out, this is probably why Orson Welles was all fucked up.
Sigh. In a couple of days the question will be moot, and I'll be surrounded by my adoring and lovely friends, and I can set this puppy free to be whatever gem or disaster it's destined to become. At which point cue the drinking, either celebratory or obliterating, and seeing the new year in with a proper pagan hurrah, not to mention at some point sneaking in hammering out about 3000 or so words of The Vasty Deep. "And all shall be well, or not."
I worship a god with an elephant head.
I think I feel better already.