count down!

I don't know how other stage managers might feel about going from 35 light cues to 5, but aside from being annoyed that it took two hours of assigning light cues only to turn right around and nix them all... I am happy happy happy. (maybe only two happys)...

I know some SM's who really like the challenge of a million cues. I think five light cues and about six sound cues sounds like a fun night out.

not sure we solved our furniture dilemmas... but we have more furniture to pick from at least.

and we got free coffee when the snack bar staff came up to dump the coffee urns after the last movie showing started (it's a community arts center that runs movies on nights there aren't live events). And boy did I need it at that point.

and best of all... unless things change radically (and you just never know) I get tomorrow night off. almost unheard of during a production week (and possibly a bit foolhardy, I grant you)... but the director is working with the actress during the day tomorrow and doesn't want a full run... so I get stay home and finish the props. Might be able to fake a halfway decent daguerrotype with a little bit of time...

so, time to eat the donutz I picked up when I stopped to gas up the car on the way home and fall into bed.

Oh God, she’s talking about herself…

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how for the most part, as I was growing up, one of the main things I was made to learn was the injunction to go sit in the corner, be quiet, and not get in anyone’s way. How in ways completely unsexual, I’ve been taught my whole life how to be submissive. And for good or ill, I’m good at it. Partly it’s in my nature to be happier in the background. But also I had a very controlling “her way or the highway” mother which messed me up ways big and small, but taught me not question authority.

And partly inside that family world, and partly outside that’s all been wrapped up in my being taught that I don’t matter. That my feelings don’t matter. When people ask me what I think or what I want, I’m always vaguely surprised, because it’s not supposed to matter what I think.

All of which is messed up I know. And all of which I struggle with every day. Some days are better than others.

And so when I go to talk about myself, there are always voices in my head laughing and saying “no one cares what YOU think.”

But I care what I think. Or I care about trying to figure out what I think. So I keep writing.

 

( in which I get something off my chest... )