That's my new name now. It's a relative of Fatso McLardbutt (joke from the November journalism trip). It seems that nothing I do is good enough, for anyone, ever. And it gets a little old after a while, that's all.
I'm fine, really. I'm just a little sore because of conditioning, a little cold because I'm wearing capris in January, a little disappointed in myself because I landed what might be the worst role in the winter production, not to mention that I'll have to do almost all the tech work singlehandedly, plus I have a calc test on Wednesday that I am soooo not looking forward to.
(Sorry, that was intended to be slightly more graceful than it actually came out. See, I can't even blog the way I'm s'posed to.)
I can picture where this night is going. An extra long, hot shower to make my aching muscles and shattered ego feel slightly better, followed by listening to "Creep" by Radiohead on repeat, and finishing the evening spending a good deal of time wiping the salt off my face. I really wish it didn't have to be like this.