Aaaaah.

So, like, the stress I'm feeling in regards to the play? Fucking MULTIPLIED. Over the past several hours, there was some weird stress orgy, probably involving radioactive goo and now I have SUPER CRAZY STRESS. With his sidekick- Inferiority Girl! Dun-dun-da!

Remember how I said I was going to have someone else read my script? The play dude told me that he had the perfect girl for the part and everything was cool. He said send me your rewrites and we will get together for a rehearsal.

Dig it?

He had mentioned during the meeting that he wouldn't be at the actual event and you know how this shit was all supposed to happen in June? Well, the theatre doesn't have anything planned for July and it would look bad if they had thirty-one days of no performances. So the date was switched and now the play dude can't be there.

I was OK with this.

I hadn't spoken to him since Tuesday and tonight I get a phone call...the girl in mind can't make the date and he's leaving tomorrow. No email access, either. He put me in touch with another actress, someone who didn't even know this thing was going on until tonight, and said, "If you need anything, leave a voicemail and I'll get back to you that night."

So, in short, I'm running blind with my rewrites and I have one week to prepare a complete stranger for the reading. Weee!

You know what, though? I know I am totally capable of pulling this off. She's the actress and I'm the playwright (fucking ay, that still sounds weird) and we've both done this before, so it's all good, right?

(OK, so I know I can do this, but this question still eats at my brain- How well can I do this? And then there's the talk-back part where the audience gets to interact with the playwrights. Oh holy fuck. I am so not charming and well-spoken and I'm a writer so I can avoid interaction. This just totally throws me off. Maybe they can ask a question or make a comment and come back to me in five minutes after I've written my response down. That would work.)

Which reminds me: when I make up the flyers with directions, I will be adding a list of acceptable excuses for not being there. So far, the only one I can think of is death. Like, your ass is dead and the coroner has your corpse in one of those giant freezers. And it's locked.

Wow. Nerves. This is crazy. And kinda fun.

I really need to sleep. Tomorrow I'll write about the flea market and that boy with a really nice smile who comes into the library.

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