August 16, 2008

Thursday I knew I was getting sicker. Jason W would give direction and I could barely follow it, because I, almost literally, couldn’t move my legs. I sat for an hour after rehearsal with DJ, watching the Olympics, mostly because I was too sick to get up and go to bed. Next morning I went and sat at Mountain Java because I had a date with Jason S, but he had called to cancel the night before and I had been too sick to look at my cell phone. Spent the rest of the day in bed, getting up between bouts of fever and chills to move the sprinkler. By the evening I was better, but I may have put in my worst performance ever, at Montford or anywhere else. I don’t remember enough to judge how bad it was, but I remember the lines coming at me as if from a great distance, sometimes with blots or blears in bright colors, which were words I’d forgot and would have to paraphrase. I remember once "putrid" arriving in the place of "foul." I am still mortally tired, but the actual illness is gone, and I will try to redeem myself tonight. Audrey was sick too, and it was almost a clean sweep of the low folk. The north glowers and rumbles: I am devoutly praying for rain.

J’s rehearsal this after noon was a setback. It exhausted me. I should have begged off, but I knew my lines for the scenes and wanted to show off.