I managed to snatch two hours' sleep before my shift on Friday night. In the morning, I went immediately to the Harrisburg Shakespeare Festival bump-in with Matt. We helped build the raked thrust. The set looks good. I stumbled into bed at 3pm after gashing my little toe on the corner of the mattress stand. It's a nasty cut - I bled quite a bit before I bandaged it up. I think the nail's going to fall off, and there's a chunk of flesh hanging uselessly at the side.
Up again at 9:30pm, off to another shift at WHP ... my antepenultimate shift, in fact. I'm eternally grateful to my supe there for being so gracious about my resignation. Back to bed at 9:30 the next morning. I thought that I had rehearsal from 2:00pm to 6:00pm that day. Unfortunately, I was wrong.
Woken up by a phone call at 11:10am. Rehearsal was actually scheduled from 11:00am till 10:00pm. 5.5 hours of fight choreography, 4.5 hours of Suzuki movement choreography. I must have misread the schedule.
As I walked away from the bandshell at 10:15pm last night, I started weeping. Exhaustion. Despair. I contained it well enough to drive home, but as soon as I saw Matt, I cried out melodramatically, "I'm so tired," and, collapsed, wracked with sobs again. Crying and crying while he held me. Poor Matt. I work myself ragged and he has to help hold me together. There's no real rest now - finals this week, and a giant Shakespeare assignment that I haven't started and am not sure how to tackle. My toe is infected. Hardly surprising after stomping around all day. It woke me three times in the night with an excruciating ache that required rocking back and forth, clutching fruitlessly at my foot, while the painkillers kicked in.
Since sleep has replaced some of the seratonin in my brain, I'm not despairing anymore. I'm still worried, but I'm determined.
Goddamn, at least drugs get you high before they dump you down. This business of staying awake through nothing but force of will (I wasn't even on caffeine) is a bullshit way of life.
I can't help but laugh thinking of next weekend. It's going to be worse.
Dad is out of hospital and is doing well, according to his e-mail. I need to belatedly get Mum something for mother's day.
P.S. At least the fight choreography and Suzuki movement stuff was vaguely enjoyable and satisfying. At least, it would have been if I weren't so exhausted.