I’m in over my head with this one. I’m directing this new musical, this project that I’ve been working on for three years – half-heartedly, I admit, for at least the last year.

And somehow the self-fulfilling prophecy, the prophecy that I’m not good enough, not creative enough, not strong enough to do this is playing out as planned.

We’re a month into rehearsals. We just got a stage manager this week – something unheard of in the world of professional performing – the stage manager is usually the first hire, before even the actors. And this stage manager’s brilliant assessment of the way things are going: “The cast totally doesn’t respect you.”

Thanks, thanks for your support. As if I didn’t know that.

I keep waiting for the time in my life when I get to do the things I KNOW how to do already. The time when I’m not constantly racing to keep up with what’s going on. I mean, sure, learning is always awesome. I love it, I love reading, I love classes, I love improvement. I’m kind of an improvement junkie, my gf says.

But this kind of running, this kind of expectation from others that I can handle it all, that I’ll “just figure it out”, that I know already what I’m doing is exhausting. It’s unsustainable.

Yesterday was my partner and my 1st anniversary of our domestic partnership. I forgot entirely. I ended the night sitting alone on the front porch, eating fast food and crying, because my cast doesn’t respect me. My lady brought me tulips. She’s a good one. She knows I’m in over my head, and she’s the only one who doesn’t say “Oh, you’re just saying that” when I state my fears aloud. Because she knows I’m right. I’m nothing if not observant, and I can call people’s energy and emotions from 50 feet.

I keep waiting for this endless free-fall to be over, so the oblivion of the crash can overtake me. Three weeks.