Do I wake or sleep?

Saturday I was able to sleep late, until 12:30. I slugged around the apartment for awhile, struggling to wake up, and then I scrubbedscrubbedscrubbed the place. It is clean. Finally around 5:30 I left to get a manicure and pedicure. The thing is, when I sleep so late my day is cut in half and I can't do most of the things I want to. I couldn't tan, or make the ice cream, or update my resume. Annoying!

I feel a deep sense of relief that my evenings are relatively free, and soon my days will be as well. Sleeping in Tomorrow was not what I'd hoped--I really don't think my vision was realized on stage and it's incredibly frustrating. Yes, a chunk of that was due to Ehud the Unprofessional Shmactor but sadly, L___ and W___ were not what I'd hoped either. W___ was doing an okay--not great but serviceable--job until the run started and then he started overmotivating every line. Dude, we worked on this. Remember? We had several rehearsals where I talked about how things were supposed to sound. Extremely frustrating. L_____ was even more frustrating, because she's genuinely talented, but a flake. She simply cannot remember direction, or rather it takes more time to drill it into her than I had.

But. The bulk of the disappointment must be reserved for that unprofessional piece of shit, Ehud Segev. He showed up late, as in 2 minutes before curtain late. (And he showed up 25 minutes late for a rehearsal, munching on pizza nonchalantly.) He changed blocking and lines at will. He consistently tried to pull focus. His line readings suck. "She DIDN'T choke on ONE of mah TOFU-balls, did SHE?" "Still, you should never, NEVER speak of fame disparagingly." He never did his homework--didn't learn either his lines or his notes. Nor did he ever bother to learn the correct pronunciation for his children's names. He talked loudly enough on his cell phone backstage to be heard by actors onstage (unspeakably inconsiderate). He thinks he's the shit as an actor, and therefore argued with every goddamn thing I told him to do. And worst of all, his attitude sucks ass. He doesn't care about the craft, about creating art or even a workable performance piece. He just cares about how he looks, and promoting his stupid show. Ehud Segev, get out of the business. You don't belong here. Stick to pulling pencils out of your nose.

I hope his name is Googled by potential directors, and this comes up. I thought I was resigned to how shitty his work had been, and how much he'd tainted the experience for me, until yesterday, talking to Susan about it. I was literally shaking, I was getting so angry. I gave everyone in the cast my traditional duckling gift (this time, they were duckling bathtub stickers) and for the first time I left out a cast member. I didn't make a big ceremony of it, I simply pulled people aside and gave them their duckling, so I didn't embarrass him--oh wait, since he didn't show up until 5 minutes to curtain, I'm sure it didn't matter. But I simply cannot be a hypocrite and pretend "Hey, no hard feelings," even to be polite. I can't do it. There are hard feelings.

Anyway. Breathe in, breathe out. Let the anger go.

The Shakespeare showcase is gonna be awesome.

I discovered this morning I'm out of violet mascara. What is UP with that? I don't wear it that often--how can I be out?

Men, be glad you're not women (sometimes).

I went off the pill for just this month because I didn't have a chance to refill my prescription. And mittelschmerz (the pain some women experience during ovulation--it strikes me as odd that the German culture actually gave a term for that phenomenon) has descended. In spades. My left ovary feels as though there's a very small, powerful vacuum cleaner (with teeth) inside sucking out whatever's in there. Pain. God, I can't wait 'til the end of the month and I can go back on. Especially now that I have such a cute little Personal Pak (I got the one in fuchsia with the red daisy) in which to carry it. I love it! I'm such a girly-girl.

I hate feeling debilitated like this. I hate having a menstrual cycle. I hate it that I, who take such pride in the peculiar strength and joys in being a woman, can be brought down like this.

I love the Pill. Thank God for the '60s.