Tag Archives: fever

On Fire

23 Apr


I’m running a temperature so high, I could prob’ly burst combustible  things into flame within 3 feet of me. 

…And my throat hurts.

…And my nose is all stuffy.

This all happened within the last three hours or so.

Until now I have made it through half the castie colds, and people’s at work successfully.  Even the ones I mack on and share sweat with, on stage.

I am on my 3rd Airborn before finally going to bed.

I refuse to have a cold on my fucking birthday.

…Or the entire final week of  the show.

…Or the auditions for the next one.

But I will admit, that at the moment, I feel like total crud.

…Which will be magically fixed by morning.

…Because I say so.

My skin hurts.

I want my pillow.

…At least the Airborn is the orange kind.

Like Tang.

…So I can be like a famous space-exploring astronaut.

…In my cold-med, drug-induced dreams.

So, suck it: cold!

I’ll be all moon walking in a minute! And you can’t come!


The Indignant Snot Bubble

28 Nov


The cold has grown two-fold since yesterday. 

…I am a giant mucus-fest of disgusting…which somehow managed a student matinee and talkback and dinner, and a first blocking rehearsal…while hopped up on three kinds of cold meds…none of which seemed to be working one fucking bit.

…So I stopped by the Pharmacy, pointed at the fourteen dollar box of Muscinex behind the counter, and told ’em, “gimme.” 

After treating me like a felon, with a host of Q & A’s regarding my chemistry-mixing abilities, whether I happened to keep a meth lab in my kitchen for recreational purposes, and how many boxes of said pills I had purchased in “X” amount of time, they scanned my Driver’s License, took my money, and finally let me leave. 

…The fact that it is easier to adopt children from China, than purchase some pills that’ll (in theory) help stop sinus-death, is supposed to be a good thing now (apparently.)

All I know is that when you’re stuffed up so hard that you sound like Huckleberry Hound, and you can’t hear because your mouth-breathing is so hard, and snot keeps trying to peek out from your nose…which is red and raw from blowing, and your eyes are weeping left-over show mascara down your face…that is not the time to put people through a merry-go-round of crap. 

…I feel it is pretty fucking obvious to tell when a person is legitimately “sick” and when they are legitimately a “tweaker.”  I understand you have to be all “equal under law” and all…but this is more the kind of thing I like to file under, “Unnecessary Harassment.”  Like strip-searching a 92-year-old woman at the airport, because you can’t get caught using your brain or “profiling people.”

…But regardless of the roadblocks, I got my pills. Which well into first blocking rehearsal, STILL were not working. No doubt, all the crying I was doing, didn’t help the scenario. Cuz we started with a giant emo moment in Act II (for scheduling purposes), and Mr. Director likes to dive right in after initial blocking for working, immediately. So I’m acting, and reading, and crying, and snotting…and at this one point get so fucking indignant, that I yell the rest of the line, slam my mouth shut, turn away, and blow a giant snob bubble.

…That’s about when Mr. Director called, “Hold!”…and the bubble depleted back into it’s snot cave, of its own accord, before I could throw down m’script and make it to the kleenex on the table.

Here we are, folks! First day of blocking, on our first scene, and I’ve already gotten “losing all dignity,” completely out of the way. At least I didn’t accidentally vomit, or shart. Although, the gass n’ poo stuff is more in Marty’s field. I shouldn’t be a total glutton in exploiting all the bodily functions. It’s only fair to share.

…We’re a great team, you guys, this cast. Klassy, klassy bitches…I can see it, already.

Incidentally, tomorrow Corporate arrives, so this post (another day ahead of time) will have to do you till prob’ly late, late tomorrow. And I’m posting it ahead of time, so I can go now and try to get some sleep. Hopefully the crying wore me out enough that I just can’t fight it.

…Mercifully, no rehearsal tomorrow.

…As if “one more thing” would really make any difference, anyhow… snorfing from my bed, ‘tween sips o’ tea…


The Awful

27 Nov


Am laying in bed, where I have been since 5:30 pm, all snockered on cold meds and every natural remedy that anyone on FB sees fit to throw at me.

…I have no time for a cold.  So for now I’ll just say, “I have ‘symptoms.'” 

I thought they were all chemically-induced from the office, but turns out that no sleep and bad habits, and lots of shows, and cast parties, and cleaning offices all day, kinda takes it outta yuh.  I even had to give up on the last BFF hang date, because I’m a grown-up with responsibilities, a 10 am performance tomorrow, a first blocking rehearsal for the other show to follow, and Corporate waiting to haunt me on Wednesday morning.

I’m all booked. 

…So the cold bugs gotta go find another hotel to check in at. 

End of story.

…This is why I’m typing my “tomorrow” blog ahead of time, “today”…while I am laying here doing not much else, but watching gross amounts of chick-lit, turned-into-movies, on illegal downloads that I feel really badly about…only I wanna watch ’em and they aren’t streaming on Netflix, so I justify by erasing as soon as the credits start rolling.

Mostly, they feature Ginnifer Goodwin.

…Cuz due to my new Marty-induced “Once Upon A Time” fascination…she is a new theatre/film crush I’ve been forced to stalk, of late.

Every so often, I push the pause button, and wander either to the bathroom to pee, or the kitchen to force-feed myself another form of hot toddy, in order to then make me pee more, in hopes that the germs will just flash-flood out of my body, in bulk.

Incidentally, the toddys are not working.

My throat is a fucking wreck, and I’ve tried at least eight kinds of hot mixings so far, only one of which included alcohol…and that, the latest, which I’m drinking now. I hope the little buggers burst into flames all down my throat.

But it doesn’t seem to be happening.

…Other non-whiskey mug-features tonight have included: honey, lemon, cyan pepper, tea, and plain hot water…all set at scalding temperatures, swilled generously, in many combinations. After my second dose of Airborne, and the latest chick-flick coming to it’s end, I’ve decided to give up.

Fuck it.

…I’ve gargled salt and Listerine. I’ve DayQuil’d n’ Benadryl’d. I’ve whiskey’d and tossed n’ turned, with burning fever, pinch-hitting scalding toddy-induced sweats.

I’m tired.

…I’m gonna just shoot the rest from my mug, roll over, and pull on the lamp chain.

Lights out.

…Goodwin got the fella.

…I can’t remember when I took my last cold-pill, but it doesn’t seem to matter.

…I’ve got a show to do for children, tomorrow.

…It’s Shakespeare.

…My call is 8:30am.

…I normally would just be starting my first cup of coffee by then.

…Talkback to follow.

…I have bills still to pay.

…And then: rehearsal.

In short: I’m doomed. But for now, I have a pillow and a bed, and one should never let those go to waste, by God!

…And so I won’t.

…Oh…my fucking throat…!!


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