Today's Post: Why Does Everything Itch?

I survived Chingay. The odds were stacked - my knee had swelled up, making crouching horribly painful; it rained just before both performances making sure that there was a good chance we would slip and die; and it was hot.

Really, really hot. I was fucking dripping. My glasses kept fogging up.

I made a baby cry.

A couple of girls scream.

A guy leap couple feet in the air trying to run away.

I win.


So, back to work. Play Analysis assessment is on Wednesday - that means the mask prototypes and the portfolio has to be ready for submission, along with the Legend of The Curse presentation. Library books are overdue. Knee still tender.

I am so very taken with his illustrations.

And: Shutdown Day. Can you last 24 hours?

Today's Muse: Peneng

Chingay performance tomorrow and Saturday. Betting pool running on who keels over from heat exhaustion first. My money's on the Pimpin' Cat - Um. DandyLion. (Sorry, Travis and Dom, but the odds are stacked, man.)

Seriously, after running around in that bloody field, Orchard Road is going to be a piece of cake. There won't be any sneaky hidden potholes, for one.

I'll be the one making rude faces at small children. See if you can pick me out from the masks.


Again I wonder, will the rest of my career be like this? Mad rehearsals all day for various projects, and inbetween that mad rushes to complete portfolios and essay-things, and inbetween that mad mad mad rushes to find bloody hospital gurneys and floppy poodles for shows?

Holy crap, I'm not going to make it to forty, am I?

Today's Muse: This Gaping Hole in My Elbow

They love the baby girls in my family.

They're cooed at more. They get what they want all of the time. One of the first things they learn to say is "Pretty?" so they can ask the adults when showing off a new hair clip, a new dress...

They're also considered to be tiny luck bringers.

One year, one of my many nieces ran around repeating four numbers over and over. My older brother noted the numbers and used them to buy 4-D; he won a tidy sum.

My youngest niece was born on Friday the Thirteenth; her father seems to have had nothing but sucess since then.

There are other stories, some so vague that they can be dismissed as coincidence, others so weirdly accurate. It gets a bit mad, sometimes. Saturday night, while driving, the tot pointed out a "yellow taxi". Cue mad chase to try and catch the license plate number of said taxi for 4-D.

Now, it's not as though the boys are neglected. They get cooed at when they're tiny; it's just that no one asks them for lucky numbers.



Chinese New Year smells of salted pork and spring onions and fresh fish and tinned peaches. And layer cake. So much bloody cake. I'm shocked the oven hasn't exploded yet. It's been doing days like this for over ten bloody years, and every year I wait for it to explode but all it does is give a tiny shudder after the whole week-long ordeal and NOT EXPLODE.

I love this holiday.

I stopped attending Vox because it clashed with Young Co. - But when emails like this come in through the mailing list, I wish I was back -


"But just in case we can't remm what we did...the pieces we did are:
1. Dravidian TittyRump (all)
2. Maiden picking Flowers (stalked by Baritone Perv)(100%)
3. Horrashio (Part 1 + bits)
4. (the Lala Lalalalala song) (stop at page pg 2?)
5. (chinese drinking song) (??)
6. Hemant (100%)"


I have also managed to skin my elbow.
That is all.

Oh, one more: Last time I'm taking any falls for you, chump. Next time you own up to your own creepiness.

Now I'm tired and really grumpy.

Ach. At the very least I found a pinstripe vest and a pair of pink-and-black satiny sort of flats. But no bloody fuzzy wooly thing. Disappointed. Annoyed.

If you're one of the people who bought the dress, similar to the one pictured above, from Marks and Spencer while I was counting my bleeding pennies for it, the dress, the one I had been waiting for what seems like my entire life, you are horrible horrible people and I hate you very much.

I really do.

I think I shall go to bed. Perhaps I will awake feeling very silly for being so very annoyed, but I doubt it. I shall most probably cry sometime tonight, but I think that will be because of my nose, as it will not stop running.

Rivers of snot, gentlemen. Rivers of snot.

Today's Muse: Toaster Ticking

I'm very tired.

I'm typing this in the dark, eating olives from a jar (They're very old, and must be consumed), with one potato stuck in the toaster and no coffee.

I'm very, very tired.

I am not burning out. I am not succumbing to any pressure. I am working well despite the many commitments; The To-Do for The Word Womb has been compiled and has items being steadily ticked off, the presentation on Lecoq is ready for tomorrow, a room's been booked for rehearsal for the chorus assessment piece. I like being busy. I love doing what I do.

I'm just tired, and a little grumpy.

Pardon me, my potato appears to be whistling.

I'm very tired.