A Shout-Out to my Favourite Co-Star

I commented here recently that life had been hectic with work, rehearsals and all my other commitments each demanding sizeable chunks of my time.

That has gone up another notch or two this weekend with full days of dress and tech rehearsals for Monty Python’s Spamalot, which opens on Friday May 3rd.

The sets are magnificent and the crew are great. The directors are positive and proactive and their standards are high. My fellow cast members are talented, encouraging and supportive. The band is that good, it would be worth just coming to hear them play without any of us being on stage. We’re all having a blast because the show is hilarious and great fun. There is no doubt this is going to be a sensational show.

Thus far, I have managed to keep things under control for the most part, and get things finished by deadlines and due dates. 

It’s fair to say, though, that I would not be doing anywhere near as well as I am without the consistent, faithful support of my favourite co-star: caffeine. 

It will continue to play a crucial supporting role this week— possibly even more so, given that the week ahead is further complicated by two evenings of parent-teacher conferences sandwiched between school and rehearsals, almost an hour’s drive away from where I work. 

Anyone who wishes to tell me that caffeine isn’t good for me or suggest that I cut back would be well advised to wait until after the final show, at least. 

Until then, I will continue indulging in my “morning  cup of don’t hurt people” as my husband and I like to call it, and rewarding myself with as many others as I need to get through each day. 

As for keeping me awake at night? I honestly don’t think that will be a problem. I’m beat. 

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Staggering Over The Line.

Patricia Flavel (AUS) finish line Athletics 2000 Sydney PGWe’ve all seen those images of the long-distance runners at the Olympics who can barely move their limbs, and have to keep jerking their arms and legs to get over the finish line, where they fall into a sobbing heap, barely able to think or breathe.

That was me this week, although not in any track and field event. With a final burst of grim determination and a fair degree of operating on ‘autopilot’, I staggered over the finish line of an 11 week school term. Exams done and graded, reports written, special reporting for students with disabilities completed, and reporting software glitches dealt with, it was all I could do to get home without actually falling in a heap.

Then I was reminded by my very extroverted husband  that we had to go out for dinner to farewell a friend who is returning to The Netherlands.  The very last thing I wanted to do was move, let alone have to talk to anyone.

“Do I really have to go?” I asked. I’d like to say there was hope in my voice, but it was more like desperation laced with the abject misery of the tears I was blinking back.
“Yes!” replied favourite ‘social butterfly’. “We won’t stay long.”

I can’t believe I fell for that – again. Why do I always believe him when he says that?

Anyway, I went along and made a valiant attempt to both stay awake and wear a happy face. Despite the fabulous array of food on the table, I managed to eat some potato and a sausage. I was too tired to contemplate chewing anything, so not even the marinated steak managed to tempt me.  I had reached the point when I just didn’t care.

It was after 9pm when we got hom. I went to bed and, surprise surprise, found it impossible to  fall asleep. Instead, I just lay there in a fuzzy daze of not-quite-asleep limbo for hours, occasionally weeping a little when I had to move one of my limbs.  I had my regular talkback radio shows on, and I know I listened, but I don’t think I took anything in. Of course, given that the last time I went to bed and fell straight to sleep may have been when I was about three years old, this is completely normal for me. But oh! how I wanted to sleep.

2015-12-13 15.45.01 Five Days Of Sleep

Today, I feel like I’ve been hit by an even bigger truck than usual. My Fibromyalgia is keeping a constant check on my pulse and my dodgy spine is being a drama queen every time I move.

So far, I’ve managed to avoid taking any codeine, which I wouldn’t have been able to do before my conch piercings. Despite enormous temptation to overdose on coffee, I’ve only had one, and am focusing on just drinking water and resting as much as I can today so that this doesn’t continue for days and eat up half of my term break.  I have writing that I want to do, and work for school that I must do, so that’s not an option.

Today is a pyjama day. Tomorrow, I’m going to dress up, put makeup on, and go out to take bookselfies for Indie Pride Day. Trust me, you wouldn’t want me doing that today, even with makeup and proper clothes.

For now, I’m going to snuggle in my comfy chair and cuddle my enormous sense of satisfaction at having not only survived, but also having met every work requirement and deadline, rehearsed and performed in a play, and then auditioned, cast and started rehearsals for HMS Pinafore in September. And all of that without killing anyone – other than fictionally, of course.  Go, me!