We turned the calendar to “May” on Friday. This was the longest-awaited calendar-flipping of the year. Because May is the last full month. And once we’re done with May, it’s June. And then there’s only two weeks of June. Drag, drag, drag. Everything is dragging. I’m trying to enjoy this, but I feel so hostile about the disrespect and management issues. It makes me want to crumple up into a ball.

In brighter news, I spent Friday night and Saturday night house managing for Bryan’s stage at the Chicago Improv Festival. I corralled audience members into the theater, took tickets, stuffed programs and gave a whole lot of directions to the restroom. Somehow, this was wholly fulfilling.

Mental pictures: Henri walking around in his red do-rag with great purposeful strides, Stephanie telling all the patrons that there was “an evil Lindsay on the premises” (versus the “good Lindsey” working on the stage she was managing across the hall), trying to explain how we were Stage 4, but the sign said Studio 3, and that Lookingglass was Stage 3, having invisible weapon fights with Stephanie’s crew, finding out she’d angered one of the founders of improv by pullling the lights (supposedly) too early on his group, breaking the bad news over and over that the restrooms were all on the second floor, creeping up the back stairs to crouch near the light booth and watch the show from the back, plying Bryan with hugs when he was down, using mad amounts of diplomacy and patience on the over-bearing parents who came all the way from Florida to see their teenagers’ improv group, rescuing an exhausted Jeff from the VIP table, going home and curling up, knowing that small goals had been set and accomplished.

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