I was going to start this post off by talking about how my brother used to call me "Victorian Frail" when I was a youngster because I was so often sick, and that I've finally kicked that namesake because I haven't felt this great in as long as I can remember - probably because of the new diet. And then...I got sick...Which really, really sucks.
My rm's boyfriend was staying here and was stricken by some such or another - didn't seem to be flu (for which NY state has declared an epidemic), but nothing fun, either. Well, of course, I caught it. Sigh. These things happen, and at least I don't work until Wednesday night. Maybe this was all brought upon by me thinking about how well I've been feeling and how I haven't gotten the flu probably because I'm so anti-social and never hang out with people. It caught up to me anyway. Nuts.
Feeling a bit off, but not terrible, I did venture out this morning to ballet class, then over to a dance audition. I toughed it out even though I felt progressively worse and worse as the day wore on. I finally got home, and instead of going straight to bed, I took out the garbage, cleaned the bathroom thoroughly, put away my clothes, and made some throat coat tea, as it seems to be mainly affecting my vocal region. Guess it's a good thing I didn't get a callback - I probably would've passed out and not been able to sing a note, anyway. I am now tucked in my cozy bed (thank God for this wonderful mattress, fluffy pillows, soft, well-worn blankets, and my kitty cat), and while I am feeling pretty miserable physically, my spirits are not flagging much. Have you ever had the sensation of being able to feel every centimeter of skin - what's on it, what it's rubbing against, and that every tiny bit of it hurts? Yeah. I have that. My fingers are sore and hurt anyway, so why not type? At least I'm not vomiting - if things get to that level we shall see a sharp decline of spirit and good nature.
Growing up as "Victorian Frail", I've never used that as an excuse to stop me doing things. Indeed, I remember when I was too sick to go to school, but I would make my mom take me to play practice and shows - where on that magical, crappy little stage in the cafeteria, all illness would melt away for 2 blissful hours. Unlike waaaay too many people I see, I do not cough into the air/on other people or straight into my hands and then commence touching damn near EVERYTHING (ugh - it's appalling the things I witness). I remember my mother teaching me very early on to cough/sneeze into my shoulder/elbow. I don't know why it seems like such a lost art. I'm constantly washing my hands and hope this will pass quickly into non-existence, and not onto my rm.
Why not end this post with a little good news, shall we? I booked a part in a reading of a new farce! (And there was much rejoicing...Yaaaa.). I went and auditioned on Saturday. I did my comedic monologue, and they asked me to stick around. I did, and as I was in the hall I saw the 5 or 6 other girls there going over their sides for the callback. A few minutes later, the monitor comes out, says they have me on file and thanks for coming. Shucks. Oh well. Great start to the audition season, right? Wrong! Because Sunday at work (because of my nifty new iphone), I was able to check my email. Here we encounter yet another snafu, dear readers, in that it was addressed:
Dear Julia,
Dear Stephanie,
Thank you so much for your great work in yesterdays auditions....
bla bla bla offering the part bla bla
Well, was this really a job offer to me or to the un-known Stephanie? Not wanting to get myself excited and then disappointed, I convinced myself it was just an error they sent the email to me, and the part, indeed, was offered to this Stephanie person. I emailed them asking for clarification. Minutes ticked by. I walked dogs. I played with dogs. I cleaned up dog pee (hi ho the glamorous life, am I right?). Ding! My phone alerts me to a new email. I open it. And voila! It was a mistake typing "Dear Stephanie" and that I truly do have the part. Huzzah! (Again, there was much rejoicing...Yaaaa.). So, while it's only a short thing, a bit of rehearsal then one reading, I'm very excited. I quite enjoy the script, I love farce, and hey - it's work! I'm getting out there, meeting new people, working on new projects. Hopefully this is the signal of a year of profitable work (not necessarily in the monetary sense, though that would be nice, too).
So, there we have it, dear readers. Sick in bed, but happy in heart. And yes - I am living proof that people really do do bell-kicks in the street from sheer happiness :)
Feeling a bit off, but not terrible, I did venture out this morning to ballet class, then over to a dance audition. I toughed it out even though I felt progressively worse and worse as the day wore on. I finally got home, and instead of going straight to bed, I took out the garbage, cleaned the bathroom thoroughly, put away my clothes, and made some throat coat tea, as it seems to be mainly affecting my vocal region. Guess it's a good thing I didn't get a callback - I probably would've passed out and not been able to sing a note, anyway. I am now tucked in my cozy bed (thank God for this wonderful mattress, fluffy pillows, soft, well-worn blankets, and my kitty cat), and while I am feeling pretty miserable physically, my spirits are not flagging much. Have you ever had the sensation of being able to feel every centimeter of skin - what's on it, what it's rubbing against, and that every tiny bit of it hurts? Yeah. I have that. My fingers are sore and hurt anyway, so why not type? At least I'm not vomiting - if things get to that level we shall see a sharp decline of spirit and good nature.
Growing up as "Victorian Frail", I've never used that as an excuse to stop me doing things. Indeed, I remember when I was too sick to go to school, but I would make my mom take me to play practice and shows - where on that magical, crappy little stage in the cafeteria, all illness would melt away for 2 blissful hours. Unlike waaaay too many people I see, I do not cough into the air/on other people or straight into my hands and then commence touching damn near EVERYTHING (ugh - it's appalling the things I witness). I remember my mother teaching me very early on to cough/sneeze into my shoulder/elbow. I don't know why it seems like such a lost art. I'm constantly washing my hands and hope this will pass quickly into non-existence, and not onto my rm.
Why not end this post with a little good news, shall we? I booked a part in a reading of a new farce! (And there was much rejoicing...Yaaaa.). I went and auditioned on Saturday. I did my comedic monologue, and they asked me to stick around. I did, and as I was in the hall I saw the 5 or 6 other girls there going over their sides for the callback. A few minutes later, the monitor comes out, says they have me on file and thanks for coming. Shucks. Oh well. Great start to the audition season, right? Wrong! Because Sunday at work (because of my nifty new iphone), I was able to check my email. Here we encounter yet another snafu, dear readers, in that it was addressed:
Dear Julia,
Dear Stephanie,
Thank you so much for your great work in yesterdays auditions....
bla bla bla offering the part bla bla
Well, was this really a job offer to me or to the un-known Stephanie? Not wanting to get myself excited and then disappointed, I convinced myself it was just an error they sent the email to me, and the part, indeed, was offered to this Stephanie person. I emailed them asking for clarification. Minutes ticked by. I walked dogs. I played with dogs. I cleaned up dog pee (hi ho the glamorous life, am I right?). Ding! My phone alerts me to a new email. I open it. And voila! It was a mistake typing "Dear Stephanie" and that I truly do have the part. Huzzah! (Again, there was much rejoicing...Yaaaa.). So, while it's only a short thing, a bit of rehearsal then one reading, I'm very excited. I quite enjoy the script, I love farce, and hey - it's work! I'm getting out there, meeting new people, working on new projects. Hopefully this is the signal of a year of profitable work (not necessarily in the monetary sense, though that would be nice, too).
So, there we have it, dear readers. Sick in bed, but happy in heart. And yes - I am living proof that people really do do bell-kicks in the street from sheer happiness :)
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