On Thursday I joined another show at ART, "Inspecting Carol." They needed a sound board op at the last minute and I owe the production manager over there more than a few favors, so I took up the call with alacrity. Sound Board involves things like pressing buttons quickly and preventing small catastrophes from turning into big ones. It's a paycheck, and I'm loyal to the best elements of ART. Plus, I like wearing black. It streamlines some of the more complicated considerations for me, like, say, dressing myself before going out into the world.
On Sunday, I was assigned to understudy a castmember in the event that the worst should come to happen, and someone has to miss a show for health reasons. My previous experience of the grueling ART performance schedule leads me to expect that I will be needed onstage at some point.
In the midst of the long tech rehearsals for "Carol", friends from SF were in town for someone's wedding, and I played host to them in my disheveled house through the wee hours of the night. And then there was the breakfast with Randall, the meeting with Emily-Jane, the late night tryst with T, the repeated airport missions, and so forth.
Late now on Sunday night, I'm overjoyed to discover that I have no shows planned for tommorrow. Tommorrow is the first true non-working-day I've had since before Metamorphoses. (Almost every other day has involved shuffling or accommodating for some other stressful piece of my whacked out world.) I'd recorded this in my book of days, but I'd forgotten about it until I actually checked my schedule tonight, and lo and behold the only engagement I have listed, is donating plasma to the Red Cross at 2:30.
Planning on attending a playwrights' workshop in the evening. Oh but it will be lovely to sleep in.