There's little to fear really, on this Day Two which is really Day One, being the first full day and a much more realistic representation of the 37 or 38 to come. Yesterday the Bridge Crew were taken by Long-Suffering Childless Units One and Three to the hideous and chilly land of Funder. And so I sat around pre-writing posts.
Nothing to fear then, outside of physical and mental collapse. I've decided to use this as a valuable or, depending on who wins the big race, completely pointless technical rehearsal of Common Law's eventual demise. And despite this being merely a technical rehearsal, and not one which requires me to employ any of my peerless powers of emoting, I'm still giving it my all. The wandering listlessly from room to room, the metronomically regular crying jag, the being strong for the children. All in the bag. It's a stinking shame that the New York Times are missing this one, I'd be straight to Broadway. Now if I could just put the chairs in the right place and get my entrances and exits right, I'd be punfully set. And hey, can someone talk to the lighting guy? It's a little dark in here. Lonely and dark. How about a revolving gobo? A revolving gobo of an exploding helicopter for preference.
Back to work tomorrow. That oughta spice things up.