This is the part where I come down to it and write a real entry... but really, who wants to hear about the agony of fitting, cutting, pinning, basting, stitching, unpicking, restitching, ironing, trimming, and hemming costumes?
Rehearsal today was a struggle. Ben had been up all night long, sick to his stomach. Alex was late. With every passing minute, the iron scaffolding of the set grew warmer and warmer, almost hot enough to sizzle the water we dropped on it. When I was carried out for the funeral scene, the metal bands on the ramp seared the skin on my arm. It's hard to be dead when something tries to start you on fire.
I sat huddled in my white dress backstage, every once in a while absently tugging at the white Juliet cap that embraced my too-short strands of hair. The crystal heart, my chief prop and beloved responsibility, was dangling from a ribbon tied securely around my neck. Its diamond flashes and brilliant demonstrations of colour captured the cast's attention and admiration, which I blithely passed on to Tabitha, who owns the necklace.
Patiently waiting for my scenes, I thieved a few bites of Tammie's chicken curry. As I set a steaming potato in my mouth, I mumbled a rather amused apology in Ben's direction, knowing that my breath would be less than minty for our scene together.
Today, I patiently reconstructed the relationships between Ophelia and Laertes (cutting the good-bye hug to a bare minimum), Ophelia and Polonius (why shouldn't she be angry?) and Ophelia and Hamlet (it had to be good before it went bad, you know). I returned home from rehearsal and a long conversation with Eric, tired, worn-out, overheated... and confident in the knowledge that if someone screws up, it won't be me.