Everyday

I write every day. Journaling, blogging, a hefty email--these things count--but besides all that, I also strive to work on a play, my book, or a script every day. Two pages is the rule of thumb. It's been hard lately. I'm now in five ongoing improv shows, coaching a team, teaching four classes, tutoring eight hours a week, and my list of my day staples keeps growing. Read inspiration every morning, workout, eat a protein-rich breakfast, put away my clothes, do ten minutes of Japanese study. It's been a No Time for Fun Fall. I am perhaps too honest to peripheral friends. "I would love to hang out, but honestly, I have no free nights until December 17."

Tonight I got home from rehearsal and needed to sit and be with Bisque. And then I needed to read up on all the new sexual harassment allegations of the day. And then I needed to write, but, oh, what a long day. I finally began at 11. It's 11:50. It took me 50 minutes to get two pages on my new short. But I did it.

I've been stressed the past two weeks after somehow skating over all my obligations through September and October. I guess students are desperately trying not to fail, I have six weeks until my solo show reopens, I'm trying to run myself as a business, I eat too much candy. But some things I have liked about the past week: starting Big Little Lies, the sweetness of my new theatre, honest rehash on the Argyle train platform, playing a singing rat in yesterday's set, confetti canon at The House of Blues, inspiring a stranger, a chocolate fountain at my new play opening, when I am listened to, the student in the back row crushing his monologue, goofball English students, giving new improvisers easy information, never feeling embarrassed in front of a good friend.