Swing your razor high, Sweeney

Yesterday morning (Friday) I rolled over to turn off the alarm and promptly did something horrible to my back. I have no idea what. So I lay there for about half an hour in pain. I could move, but I really didn't want to. Besides, it didn't really seem to make a difference, pain-wise. When I finally got up the will power to gingerly sit up and move, I took a lukewarm shower and lots of motrin. Feh. It still hurts. There's this constant littlepain that's hovering around, waiting for me to move the wrong way, or too quickly, so that the bigpain can swing out from under my shoulder blade. I still have no clear idea why. I'm rather dreading sitting in tech all day today and tomorrow, but at least I'm staying the night there so I don't have to worry about schlepping my laptop across 2 boroughs and half a state (I have no idea if the theatre is really halfway across New Jersey. But for dramatic effect, that statement works well).
Yesterday evening I met up with Lyricus to talk Vision about As You Like It. I'm excited. He has all kinds of good ideas, and while I have no idea what direction I'm going to take yet, I have a bunch of ideas swirling around. I forget the phrase he used to encapsulate his Big Idea, but it's based on this idea that � okay, I have no idea how to phrase this. He talked about how in his romantic imaginings of his life, you know, getting the girl in front of the fountain, telling someone off, starring in some play- they all kind of appear in a cinematic form. So, that's what our imagination has become. We really can't picture what Byron was talking about with his poems because we have an entirely different way of imagining things. He was talking about how reality gets replaced by imaginings, and how they then become the reality. I'm saying this very badly. I wish I had been taking notes, but it was kind of an informal conversation, and it felt too weird to do that. Oh well. He talked about the layers of truths in the play. when Shakespeare wrote it, men would have played the women's parts. So you have a boy, playing Rosalind, who disguises herself as a boy. So, when Orlando falls in love, who is it really with? It's all about what is reality, and what is pretend, and when does what we pretend become the reality. I'm not sure how crazy I want to go. (I also don't know yet what kind of an inventory I'm looking at, so�) On the one hand, I kind of want to make it all kind of fantastical and hyperreal. Bright, big colors, no discernible directionality. But on the other, I kind of want to go with stark. With bias and angles and clear white light. We'll see.
It was fun talking to Lyricus. I had forgotten how fun it is to just watch him run with ideas, and how intense he is when talking, and his speech patterns. Halfway through, his girlfriend Kate showed up. I know them both from Camp, and I always thought there that she kind of hated/had serious disdain for me. Which I guess is not true. We had a good conversation about my work and her school and Camp this summer. They're both going to be there the whole time, I'm only going for the last two sessions. It'll be interesting. Shoot! Speaking of which, I need to send stuff in for that. Oh well. Monday.
I've been talking to the Director more lately. We had a spell there where we were both busy, or at least, available at different times, or whatever. But then the other day he sent me his Lear paper to read. It was good. At least, I thought so. He talked about inviting himself over, but being too tired. Then the other night I got fantastically drunk and told him to come over. Someday soon we'll actually be in the same place at the same time.
I went to sleep last night at 9. And slept till 7 30 this morning. I'm still tired. I've been running on under 4 hours a day for the past week or so, and so now I'm at an awkward place of having gotten too much sleep, but not caught up on all the sleep I need. I kind of think it's total bullshit when people tell you to dream. I mean, as a closer, 'sweet dreams' is fine, in most cases, but when some one makes a point out of it, like 'sleep well, have good dreams' it makes me twitchy. Like- fuck you, man. I don't remember my dreams much in the first place, and now you've added this idiot directive, even if it's not intended as that. (side note- Word wants me to write 'fucks you, man'. Word is pretty stupid sometimes) I dunno. It also implies this level of familiarity that I don't like. Also, a level of cheesiness. Also, it makes me want to curb them. Violent inclinations.
I'm writing this on the train. Which makes me feel official and important. Laptoping it on the train. I love that this is a pretty regular form of transportation over here. But we were going pretty slow for a while. Stupidness. (pause)
And I was late. What with the delay, the second dinky train that I needed to take had already left. So I stood around at the junction for a bit, then caught a cab to the theatre. Fuck. I mean, it was fine, there weren't many notes, and we blew through them in about 10 minutes, but still. Fucking unprofessional and disappointing. I had even been thinking "maybe I should take the 8 15 train instead of the 9 15. It means being an hour early, but at least then I won't be late". But then I thought, nah. I don't want to get up at 6 30. It'll be fine. Yeah. Right.
I've been feeling very off lately. But in such a way that I didn't realize it until yesterday, when I was trying to crowd weave in Penn Station. I am normally the master of crowd weaving, ducking through, cutting over, kicking ass, taking names and leaving people in the dust. Not these days. Slow and clumsy. I even caused a couple of collisions. It's no good. I'm not sure why it is, or what to do about it. I think getting back into normal sleep will help. I need to call that place that was going to bring me in for some trial work, to see about hiring me full time. The last time I talked to them, they were still enthusiastic about me, but had nothing going on that they would need me for. Maybe they do now.
This is a big Russian play, so a bunch of actors just wandered in, all wearing big beards. The problem, I think, with fake beards, is that they look too soft.