broken

I don't know what happened yesterday. It felt like a toxic stew of hormones or low blood sugar or something, but I was a leaky vessel oozing out all the patience and humour that I possess. I wasn't angry at anyone specifically, but all I wanted to do was slink home and read under the covers all day, and instead I had to try and pull it together and oversee a long day culminating in a dress rehearsal. I felt poisoned, somehow; itchy and squirmy in my own skin. Do you ever get those days, and what do you blame it on? PMS? Lack of energy-snacks? Fatigue? I can't think what set it off, and that scares me.

Years ago I would have been amazed and thrilled if you'd told me that I'd have a show running at the Arts Club Theatre all summer. And I still am, but sometimes it's possible to lose sight of the joy in all that other stuff: he's making more money than me and why am I still not getting the acclaim that she gets and why don't they hire me? And always self-doubt creeps in: how is it possible that you're qualified to give these people direction and aren't you asking them to do something that you couldn't even do and when did you last pick up your instrument and practice, goddammit?

I don't know what the answers are. All I know is that some people seem to float effortlessly through life, bullshitting when they have to without a care in the world. And even if I had 10 doctorates in music I'd probably still be agonizing. So I'll have to learn to suck it up and keep going. Because it's my job, and people are depending on me to at least pretend I have an idea of what I'm doing.