On the one hand, it's nerve-racking not knowing if you've got the gig you've got your heart set on, but on the other: AT LEAST I DIDN'T HAVE THIS FUCKING TURKEY FOLLOWING ME INTO REHEARSAL. Or worse, A SHOW.
It sounds like Bernadette Peters and won't stop singing musicals at me. Poor Lucky won't leave my bed. I had to carry him down the stairs just to get him to use the bathroom.
Also, thank you for the reminder of just how insane our lives back home could get.