From Julieanne Pogue

Notes from The Underground, January 18, 2008

After a grueling three hours (following a previous grueling three hours of line-bashing) Jack pronounced that we were doing “o.k.” (!), but we just needed to relax and put more time into it. He said, and I quote, “Now the GRUNT WORK begins.”

I am searching for a hemlock tree.

Tonight is Scene 2, with which I have a moderate relationship. Becky, dear Becky, dear all-suffering and cheery Becky, has promised to run lines with me for a good bit before rehearsal. Thank a merciful deity, we have tomorrow off, to attempt to acquire Scene 3.

I have an appointment with my hairdresser which I have cancelled 4 (yes, 4) times, and he will trim my hairpieces for the production. I have an appointment with my doctor, which I have cancelled 4 times, next Thursday, whereat I may get a referral to an arthritis clinic. Is there a pattern there?

I mistakenly fed my poor dog something of my own food after rehearsal – Italian Christmas cake, with raisins, my comfort food - which seemed to poison him; we were up all night with various effluvia. All Things Do Conspire Against Me, and I am feeling small and horrid. The deer have no food. If they starve, I have only myself to blame.

In these times, it is best to go a step at a time, dealing with The Next Thing as it arrives, rather than fretting about the Big Picture. I study, I drill, I attempt to find places in the script that cue me what the NEXT maid’s entrance will hold.

I commiserate and drill with Gina. I envy Laura. Little things.

Baby steps.

Off I go to Actors Guild offices. If anyone finds a hemlock tree, I can be reached there. Slogging away. No time for fun.

Just work. And prayer. And, after, cake.

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