Restraint has never been my strong suit when I’m on about something. Heh.

Last night, a student posted something unkind on Twitter, aimed at Stoney and me. You know the drill:

• no names are mentioned, but you know it refers to you
• it’s an arrogant, smug comment, meant to sting, and the perp knew I’d see it
• since it’s on social media, complete with its cushion of no face-to-face contact, the ice pick can be jammed in further

Of course, my first instinct was to fire back with my best work, putting this person in his/her rightful place. In fact, I had it all typed out on my phone and ready to go, and it was a doozy. Wrecking ball, quality stuff. I stared at the little icon that said “TWEET” for a good 10 seconds before finally backspacing what I’d written and canceling out. I went over the reasons why in my head:

• I’d decided long ago to stop being such a sissy, letting others dictate how I feel
• If I’d responded in kind, I would have been the organ grinder’s monkey, performing the expected trick
• I’ve always believed that entering into degrading exchanges serves only to drag you down to the perp’s level
• It was a 16-year-old high school student — need I say more?

I considered it a victory indeed. At least until I see this person today. HA

Kidding. (I think)

Why is it so hard to leave personal slams hanging in the ether? Is it because we don’t want to be viewed as weak; unable to defend ourselves? Or maybe it’s because of what I like to call “last wordism.” Ain’t nobody say that to me and walk away with it. I must admit that’s usually my M.O. The well-placed zinger has often left me with regret. (“Man, I wish I hadn’t said that…”) Sometimes I forget the difference between defending my position and just leveling the better insult.

But last night, I took the high road, I want you to know. I said nothing. How about that?

#winning

Hey, GUESS WHAT DAY IT IS.

#ducking

Someone needs to put the Spock down on my head. Maybe that would clear it out and make room for other stuff that requires my attention and gray matter.

Basically, it has begun. And by “it,” I mean the constant state of butterflies in the gut, leading up to the final week before the show opens. And this year, for several reasons, we are slightly under-rehearsed at this point in the run. It’s OK though. We’ve been there before and survived. And maybe it’ll provide me with a bit more focus.

I have called this “compartmentalizing.” You have this dresser or file cabinet in your head, see, and you store different issues in different drawers to pull out later when you need them. Thing is, my internal dresser tends to look like my *real* dresser after a busy week: stuff hangin’ out everywhere. It’s insane. But I need to really focus on fixing that this week, or I’ll totally derail by Friday, at which time we are under the two-week window.

I could really use some Spock right now, though, to clear the cluttered dresser drawers. Or maybe I should take the advice that Shickeneder gave his friend Mozart: Write it down, Wolfie. It’s no use to anyone in your head.

Is it Monday? Of course it is. Ick.

PS — did anyone get the notification email yesterday that a new post had been published? I CCd it to myself and never got it…

Me, tired out? What’s this — a headache? That doesn’t happen too often. I slept in today (7:15!), so I’m a bit off my feed. Does that ever happen to you? Too much sleep?

Truth be told, I think I’m just wonked about the coming 20 days; the lead-up to you-know-what. Much to do, and some of it has to happen today. Four projects, to be precise. So let’s get going.

Yesterday was three kinds of awesome, though. Got to see Jake play flag football (his team is the L.A. Raydiz), and played with Justin and Mr. A. on the sidelines. Jake scored, and it was a beautiful morning, and everyone had fun. Now, it’s back to reality.

I read a column yesterday (too tired to search it out at the moment) that featured lessons we learn later in life that we could have benefited from earlier — say, in our twenties, when most of us embark on a career. One of those things was taking time to recharge; that not everything in life is about work, success, and the drive to get better at everything. I struggle with this, even at my advanced age of 41.

Anyway, the guy basically said that weekends — whenever our “weekends” fall in our job schedules — should not be for work. Leave work at work, and focus on your family and yourself. Wise words. But truthfully, how many of us run ragged throughout the week, and find that the only time to get *other* stuff done is on the weekends? Still working that one out…

Speaking of out, I’m off and running. It’s Sunday, and there’s stuff to do. But I’d prefer to be lazy, feel me?

Trans·fer·ence  (trns-fûrns) n. The redirection of attitudes and emotions towards a substitute.

Hmm. Is this what I’m suffering? Transference? Since April, when I basically gave up junk food, the pairs of shoes in my closet have multiplied exponentially. Am I trading one bad habit for another? I mean, I had to have these. Then I saw these, and those were too pretty to pass up. I’m ashamed to say the list goes on. So, am I mental? Do I need a shoe intervention? And who’s going to come to my house and pry them out of my cold, dead paws?

Hey, it’s Thursday, so that  makes everything OK. One more day till you-know-when. I’m up for a party this weekend. Anyone else? My house. Bring new shoes.

FO