Tonight I’m getting only seven hours of sleep again. I function best on eight, but that’s not what this rehearsal schedule is dictating. One more dress rehearsal and then four shows this weekend. Work during the day and with the cold coming on like the end of a vacation in Cancún, stomachaches keep my Starbucks company, the red holiday cup kind. My hair is air-drying and I’m thinking of all the mistakes I made today I can’t let go. Yeah, I’m one of those people, the annoying perfectionist ones who put one mistake up on blast in their heads until a new one is made. Obsess like a Gollum. My stomach knots up at the slightest peculiarity in thoughts, plans, or pathways. I stare back at the novel I just put down last weekend and yearn for a few drops of water, it never ends.