Yeah, hi, I need to rant.

I have thirteen years of classical piano training.
I have three years of classical voice training.
I have zero years of orchestral training. I am not accustomed to looking at a score and counting out the beats until my entrance, much as an instrumentalist would do. It’s a completely foreign concept to me. I need to see what the whole orchestra is doing — read the score on the page and how my part relates to the whole — before I can fully grasp it. And I need to see and hear it at full tempo, not just in slo-mo during rehearsals. Then, and maybe then, I might understand when I’m supposed to start singing and be able to do it at full speed.

Throwing your hands up in frustration when I miss the entrance — again — is not the way to inspire me to work harder for you. It just makes me angry and makes me think you’re unreasonably mean.

I went home last night, cried angry tears, finished a bottle of wine, and went to bed at a reasonable hour. And I was still irritated when I woke up this morning.

Act 1 was reasonably good last night, at least. I can hold on to that, I suppose. I found my character (finally), and felt good about that. But Act 2 is just so freaking HARD.

I think it’s going to be a while before I want to do any theatre again.

The Tip of Exhaustion

You know, there’s nothing quite like the exhaustion that comes from a significant need for sleep, but the additional knowledge that you cannot have it …. because if you go to sleep, Helen or Alice might get into something they’re not supposed to get into.

And they’re awake.

Happily, bouncingly awake.

Wondering why you’re not so jubilantly moving through life right now, not wanting to join in their merriment. All I can think about is how sleepy I am, and how I cannot have the sleep I need. Because they’re awake.

If that doesn’t seed resentment, I don’t know what does.


And next week is only going to be worse, as we go into tech week for the production of Sweeney Todd, and the draws on my physical and mental strength are even more significant. I don’t get to sleep like a normal person until July, probably, when I have had enough time to sufficiently come down from the production.

These are the times when I remember why I stopped doing theatre in the first place. Because I hate this fatigue. And it’s worse this time — I have little kids, and one that is particularly dangerous when allowed the run of the house while I sleep, and the role I’m playing is such a departure from my personality that I’m really struggling with it. The directors are being very patient, but I know that they’re worried. I don’t blame them. I’d be worried, too. I hope I can overcome my self-doubt, my malaise, in time for opening night. The costume will help, but that’s only part of it. I need to just let go of my need for propriety and just go for it. But it’s just so difficult.

And I’m just so tired.