Some schools call it “Hell Week.” I don’t like that term. “Hell” is what took place in the 9 weeks before now. (Well, that, and last night.)
Sartre said, “Hell is other people.” I won’t go there right now, or there’ll be a rant. (In fact, I just deleted five huge sentences.) Suffice it to say that some people think they’re funny as it, and it makes me wonder if there’s a special place reserved there for them. You know the kind I’m talking about.
More on that another day, fo sho. But back to production week.
As I type this, my stomach gets all ooky. And the heck of it is, the anxiety usually centers around stuff I can’t change.
Production week for me entails thoughts and worries about:
- what’s still wrong and how it can be fixed
- things I have to let go of because they can’t be fixed in time for the opening
- how many details I need to tie up, and feeling that there is at least one gargantuan “thing” I’ve forgotten to address
- cuts in the score about which I may have failed to inform the players in the pit
- in this case (since I’m playing), getting my own part right
- most importantly, giving our audiences the quality they’ve come to expect (this is the biggy)
But, like heaven and earth, this too shall pass away. Thirteen days. Thirteen days.



What to do when I’m up at 4………….
Well it’s almost sold out. Tickets remain for the matinee, but otherwise, we’re full up. Can’t shove any more bodies in there. How about that?