Holy Week, or as musicians think of it, Hell Week, is at long last over. No more wall-to-wall rehearsals and performance for this gal, not for a while at least. Naturally, my body has responded to this newfound free time by producing a lovely snap-crackle-pop in the ol’ lungmeats. Because of course it did.
I’d probably be responding with a hissy fit right now, only I’m pretty sure I’d just wind up passed out on the floor doing a passable impression of a yule log, and I’ve sworn off all Yule log impressions for 2016.
This situation, I suspect, may require a bit of low-key The Magicians binge watching, perhaps under the influence of a soupcon of Nyquil later on. I’m told 2016 is a fantastic year. (On a non-related note, I am not quite sure how Nyquil is legal while marijuana is still kinda meeehhh in Illinois. Not saying I’ve ever partaken during my wild and reckless twenties, but purely theoretically, Mary Jane never packed three quarters of the wallop of that special purple cold pill.)
This Easter was extra feisty. I managed to leave my coat, my phone, and my house keys at my cousin’s on Saturday. Then my husband locked us out of the house on Sunday, requiring a super-exciting break-in to our own home. Adventure! Excitement! I think next year I’ll take a pass!
On an unrelated note, April 20th is fast approaching. That’s when I take the plunge and do a little standup. Boy oh boy, do I ever feel unprepared. There’s not exactly a checklist for what to do to get ready for something like that, and that would totally make me feel better. I like lists. They make me feel like life isn’t spiraling rapidly out of control. Of course, that statement implies there was some sort of control in my life in the first place, which is debatable.
Anyhow, I have a few thousand words piled up for the night in question. Hopefully a few of them don’t suck. And even more hopefully I won’t just get up in front of about ten people and have a massive, crippling panic attack. Though, that could be kind of funny, in a morbid sort of way.