I got the apartment, ladies and gents, no need to worry about me!

That’s one major stressor out of the way. I’ll have a month to gradually move my stuff, so there’s another. Work will soon be (more or less) under control as this huge shift in the way we do business is made mandatory for all accounts, and we’ve finished the transition process. After this week, we’re done with the script for “pr0ne” and we go into rehearsals. I have a director confirmed for “Rocky Horror” as well as a venue.

Somehow, though, this week is still really hectic.

As close as I am to all those things above, I’m not there yet. I haven’t signed a lease yet, although I’m assured that I’m in. I haven’t hired the movers or started to get my stuff together. As much as it looks like this work project is under control, we still run into snags and delays that make my stomach churn. And we have this week as a writing team to implement all of our final edits and updates.

I’m trying to be mindful of the ways in which I cope with stress, especially on really packed days. I haven’t touched the chocolate-chip-cookie-dough ice cream still sitting in my freezer from my minor gum surgery. I’m not looking to a glass of Merlot to solve my problems. Yesterday I had a great workout after a long day, and I’ve got a good book on tap.

Even though I know all of this rationally, when I’m in the midst of the stressful stuff, I feel like it’s not good enough. I want to throw a tantrum and run away from everything and pig out and do all the less-than-healthy things people do.

I guess…

The thing is…

The way I know I’m almost maybe kind of an adult…

Is that I feel this way and I know that I won’t actually do those things.

I’m not going to call in sick tomorrow and spend the day watching “Twin Peaks” and eating ice cream. I’m not going to pretend something urgent came up to get me out of my nighttime responsibilities. I’m not going to down a bottle of wine before trying to finish a show. I’m going to go for a quick walk and read my book on the train and try to just let this stuff go.

Which is good…

I guess…

But I don’t think I’m ever going to be rid of that inner two-year-old who, in the midst of the storm, is not happy without her ice cream.



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