Moan-day

Once again, the weekend flew by, and once again, it's Monday. Or "Moan-day", as my friend Mark titled his email to me this morning. We've been writing really deep, existential emails back and forth because, well, we have nothing to do. Mark has been reading Shakespeare online in order to keep his brain cells from slowly dying off. I, on the other hand, have been checking up on the preppy housewife blogs, deciding what to buy my cousin from her baby registry at Babies 'R Us, and decidedly NOT memorizing the hordes of lines and music for the part I'm covering. I did, however, write two thank-you notes for belated birthday gifts and mail off a check to reserve our room at this B&B in Traverse City for Labor Day weekend. Unlike last year, the Labor Day weekend vacay is going to be much-hyped and well-planned (not that last year's vacay turned out badly, it was just very spur-of-the-moment). We've been looking at travel books and stalking the internet sites about Traverse City for about 2 weeks now. We had such a fantastic time in Door County last year that we decided to try another peninsula this year. And Lord knows we'll both need the vacation by then. I can't stop talking about the fact that I'm putting in fourteen hour days and making NO money, and I'm starting to annoy myself. My mind hasn't wrapped itself around that fact that at the end of this misery, I will not have a deliciously fat bank account. In the past, I've equated working ridiculously long hours with making lots more money and not having the time to spend it. I'm hating it a lot, if you can't tell, and I'm not going to agree to something like this again. If you're calling me to four hour rehearsals, five days a week for six weeks, plus performances, you better must be paying me atleast two months rent. And I'll stop talking about that now. Seriously, annoying myself.