Post-partum depression.

Today feels so incredibly dreary. I didn't manage to drag myself out of bed till 3 pm, which is terrible because I have to write a seven page paper by 4 pm tomorrow, and now it's 6 pm and I have done NOTHING of value.

I know, empirically, that it's just the post-play blues funk reggaeton (not that last one), but all I can really feel is sad and useless. I really _want_ to have rehearsal, you know? I like those kids. They're good people. They wrote me a nice note, which got all bent and folded because I was not quite myself yester-eve.

This play took a good physical toll, too. I've gained two pounds, burned my left thumb on a hot drill, stabbed the heel of my right hand with a different sharper drill, and gotten giant bruises on my left knee and right elbow after falling down. I also may or may not have acted retarded in front of people I have to know for a long time.

Whatever--the play was a success, it ran smoothly except for Thursday-night-about-which-I-shall-not-speak-ever-again, people enjoyed it (including my dad! who likes nothing!), knock wood it solidfied my reputation as a good stage manager, and double knock wood I made lasting acquaintanceships.


... I'd really rather a headache than this existential angst.