No Matter How I Tried.

It's 10:35 Saturday morning. I've had a couple cups of coffee and several glasses of water. I've got the day planned out for hang-over recovery, just like yesterday, so I can have another great show tonight. Just like yesterday. Finally.

I took off work Thursday at 3, came home, had a nap. Then made it to the theater with as much false bravado as I could muster because I've started to hate this show. It's all "happy happy joy joy" on the outside, but really I'm thinking "I suck! I suck! I don't get to do this anymore." And then, finally, it comes together.

Thursday was not bad, with no audience other than a video camera; there were no train wrecks. Since J. had brought a friend out to tape it for us, and there are no other cast members than the two of us, we took him out for drinks afterward. I had a martini and coffee. You know, prepping for Friday; keep the alcohol down. We talked about the pianist; why am I always fighting with the pianist? There's a difficult passage in "Miracle Would Happen", where I have to sing or say over fifty words in six measures. And it's a very funny moment - that goes to shit within a hairs breadth of time because BJ and I don't get to the end of it at the same time. He's usually first! And he just keeps going on even though there is a clear chance for escape there, but no. Fuck no. "I just can't stop this hard driving rhythm right there." Mother fucker. He got to the end of the passage so much earlier than I did on Thursday, that I had time to think, "well, just because he's forging the fuck ahead, doesn't mean I have to. Why don't I just stop, take a breath, and figure out what do about it."

When I got home from our little cocktail party, Rolf was downstairs watching porn, stretched out on the part of the couch where there wasn't a pile of laundry, wearing his basketball skins. And I'm like "Hey, yay, let's do shots!" I had to take Friday off from work - the whole day, not just the half day I'd planned. I slept until 10:30. Massive amounts of water, a complete review of the score and lunch later; I was back for a nap at two until five. And then I drank a half a pot of coffee.

I told BJ when I got there, that to avoid the nightmare that "Miracle Would Happen" had become for me, if he just forged on without me, I was going to take a big breath an think for a moment when to come back in. "But that's what I love about you two, you just grab onto the bull's horns and forge ahead." "huh." I said, thinking "You fucking brilliant pianist, when the fuck to I get to start beating you bloody senseless!! It's a fucking nightmare!"

But "huh" seemed to covey that pretty well, because he said "Well, maybe I need to slow that section down." "Yeah," I said, "and if you get there first and keep going, I'm going to take enough of a break that it doesn't ruin the laugh that I just got."

So Thursday was better than Sunday - which I just felt battered and broken afterward. And J. had friends there that night, so I had to go out with them, because we are the cast. And there was no false bravado; I was upset and angry with myself and the pianist. I had miscounted some phrases, dropped weird lyrics, just struggled. And it was hard to go out and visit with the audience, because you don't want to apologize, make them tell you "No, it was good, really. We didn't even notice. . . " So you just smile, kisses and hugs. And die a little death.

False bravado hat back on my head as I arrive at the theater. Words with BJ about my vocal choice during "Nobody Needs to Know", that really made a huge improvement to the show. And what's next . . . he starts looking through the pages, and that's when I tell him that I am not foraging on in "Miracle Would Happen." And I told him again when I was putting my make-up on, that's when he said he should maybe slow down.

With the lights out backstage, I pace, my hands pressed together like an earnest child in prayer. "Focus. Focus. Focus. Don't get distracted. Don't think that went well. Don't think Has that chair always been there? Focus. Always, the next lyric. Get the next lyric right. Get it right. Right. Focus. God - forgive me - heal me- be me. For a little while. I can't do this."

And after each number, pacing, "Don't congratulate yourself for one good moment. It's the next lyric. The train wreck is coming. Lyric. Focus. Lyric."

"The train wreck hasn't happened in the usual places. It's coming. It's going to be a dropped line in a slow song. Focus! Lyric! What's the first lyric.!"

And I came off stage, with the audience left in stunned silence at the end of the show, gasping for air, trying not to sob - because I did it. I had the show I wanted, I'd believed would happen, but had given up. I had it last night. With an audience that laughed and cried, and cheered.

And I just can't believe it. I cannot put into words how fucking difficult it is to keep in mind all the time signature shifts in this fucking show. It's just ridiculous. And I got it right.

Rolf was there with Tomas, who I get to see now that Rolf has given him a job. But I can tell, I'm still on the list of those who must be punished because we kicked Bemmy out.

Puck and Memae were there with Memae's sister and PUCK'S MOM! John and Janet were there, after the long laborious apology he'd left on my cell phone when they missed the show last Saturday. (And thank God they missed it.)

And Rae was there, and Joanne, and eight of J's friends. And people in the audience who I didn't know. Who cried, and clapped, and laughed. And who were left wondering: "Wow! That was . . . just wow; but what was that?"