It's mid-April, but my house looks strangely like summer...bare fridge, ginormous dust bunnies...and I swear someone threw a clothes-bomb into my closet. It's trashed.
Today is a day off - it's been 2 weeks since my last one, so it's feeling both luxurious and 100% necessary. The weather is conducive to staying inside...windy, rainy, cool. I've made it to the grocery store and grabbed fixings for lasagna and grilled cheese sandwiches with 'mater soup. (AND, in my Lenten state of non-meat-eating, made the ultimate sacrifice and deboned a rotisserie chicken for hubby. Now that's love.) There's a load of laundry in the washer, house porn on the TV, and sleeping pets within arm's reach. I have a book I've been hoping to finish (I've fallen asleep with it on my chest no fewer than 5 times. Shameful.), candles lit, and a blanket across my lap.
I'm. Not. Moving.
(And I think hubs is going to need to walk to dog tonight...it's a fair trade for that chicken, right?)
Eleven days until opening night. Nine days until the final dress rehearsal. Eight days until I can have a hamburger.
Fifteen days until closing night.
Thirty-one days before stage management arrives for the summer season.
- Weather-enforced slackitude.
- A day of no makeup/blow-dryer/grown-up clothes.
- The zillion shades of green that are shining in my neighborhood.
- Sleeping in.