Ruh roh

The next month of Tuesdays are going to be painfully difficult. In a good, set-up-the-coffee-IV sort of way.




Bleary eyes are the order of the day. Bleary eyes and multiple lattes (I'm on my second already, with at least one more to come). True to form, the evening's performance did not wrap up until the morning, with a 2 am. sendoff of "See you next week!"

Oh God. Next week. This happens again. And again. And then once more, for good measure.

I'm not complaining. It's the lack of sleep that's talking, and even that is with a dopey grin that can't quite translate onto the page.

Music and friends have seemed to be everywhere I turn. "Glorious" does not even begin to describe.

Truth is, there's been so much fun crammed into the last few days that my brain is reeling. And my body isn't overly pleased with me.

Memo
To: V
From: Your Body
Subject: What the hell?

You're not in college anymore, dipshit. You need to give yourself some rest. Seriously. Hello. Do you copy?

To: My Body
From: V
Subject: Re: What the hell?

Oh, shut up, you wuss. You can take it. You're the first to complain about being bored when there isn't enough to do.

One more show tomorrow, then a few days of relaxation. During those days, I sleep. And work on other projects.

In the meantime, keeping conscious is my chief objective.

And continuing to dance.