Okay, so, when I write late at night by the twinkle lights in the Athenaeum, everything is so freaking emotional. I'm calmer now. I'm really not going off the deep end with this show - or, at least, not any more off the deep end than usual, I guess. I'm not spending every second seeped in profound feeling. I'm really not. It's just sometimes, and true to fashion, I can't possibly keep it to myself in those moments. Out it pours.
Right this minute, Wednesday morning of production week, this show is a list of things to do, and to get. To deliver the program, to get the blind girl glasses, to paint the flats, to find the prop corn, to pick up the borrowed carriage to go to the festival.
Into the woods and out of the woods, way way after dark.