In Which Your Humble Blogger has been brought up to the starting gate, and is off and running, and is I suppose as far as the back straightaway and heading into the turn. If the metaphor is six furlongs, anyway.
In Which Your Humble Blogger is all done rehearsing.
In Which Your Humble Blogger is a little distressed by how well the run-throughs are going, and is hoping the Theater Fates strike tonight, leaving the end of the week safe.
In Which Your Humble Blogger is beginning to feel almost confident.
In Which Your Humble Blogger fools around with the playlist.
In Which Your Humble Blogger attempted to surreptitiously examine his zipper, but, you know, the middle of a monologue isn’t the simplest time for that.
In Which Your Humble Blogger hopes that the panicky part is over.
In Which Your Humble Blogger sprinkles some powder of perlimpinpin on the script, and pouf! Three thousand words disappear.
In Which Your Humble Blogger muses a little on what he is trying to do.
In Which Your Humble Blogger totally has more than three weeks before we open. Way more. Lots more. Tons.