So yesterday I slept in. Or I was going to at any rate, before some dipshit who thought that I was someone named Rich called me like four times, waking me at 9.30a. Not something that would usually bother me, but since I had only gone to sleep after 3.30a, and I was so exhausted I was praying for death, if I had known who this Rich was, I would have hunted him down and brained him with my phone just for having such a stupid friend.

I had to be at therapy at 1p, so that meant that I didn't have to rush and could putter about of a morning, which was very relaxing. Or it would have been if it weren't for the Rich situation. And I even got there early this week, beating the doctor altogether! I was as startled as she was. But the lesson learned was that the way to get there was subway and then walk. That won't be much fun in the wintertime, but it's much faster than the bus.

And boy did I have a lot to tell! Totally besides the whole saga of Omar and I and the Evil New Jersey Transit System and everything else that happened, I found out while I was on my way to therapy that Le had hated my third act. Hated it! My beautiful, wonderful, kick-ass third act! He thought that because I let Omar get so emotional, it made it more Torvald's story than Nora's.

I don't agree, though I don't think he's wrong, I think it's a matter of artistic difference, but I was so proud of that third act, and to know that he hated it is kind of awful.

After that, I had to go to the theatre and get the stuff that we had left the night before and meet Kelly and Gregg David there. So I did that.

O wait, but first I did a little retail therapy. I swan, I'm going to have to quit therapy if I insist on shopping after every session, but I couldn't stop myself. I passed by a Barnes and Noble for God's sake! I'm not made of stone! I ended up replacing my lost copies of March of the Falsettos and Falsettoland as well as A New Brain and Randy Newman's Songbook and the books Supersized Zits, Never a Dry Moment and The Bitch in the House. Sweet.

Then I went to the theatre and did what I needed to do, dismantling the last of the set, picking up my props, returning the last few bags of costumes. Ending the show. It was kind of ceremonial.

Goodbye, Doll's House.

Also, I stopped smoking.

I had bought a couple of packs the other day, and last night I finished the second pack, kind of forcing myself to smoke the last four or so, and when I was done, I realized that I was done. Smoking, that is. I needed to smoke with all of the pressure of my life, what with the show and Omar and everything, and now the show is over and things are going reasonably well with us, Sunday night's weirdness notwithstanding. So I'm done.

I'll still bum one every so often, but it was the buying of packs and smoking every day and knowing where my ashtray was that was different. And I don't need to do it anymore. I told you it was temporary, o ye of little faith.

Today's horoscope:
Words fail you. Whether you're excited or tired, it's going to be a private experience. If you mess things up, you'll have to fix them yourself this time. The good news is that nobody has to know about your mistakes.

One year ago today:
Someday I'd like to direct a show where people are paid to act that they have to show up at rehearsal all day, every day and they don't get to complain about it.

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Last Updated Wed 15 October 01:48:09 2003