Hours and hours filled with no dreams, no sleep. Nothing to fade away the day into the endless night to clenanse my mind and soul of my sins and retributions against the world. Hours of aching and hard labor, learning and relearning, over and over, repeating and perfecting.
An OCD'er's dream.
Awakened from not-quite-unconsciousness, blackened mind burned and charred. Stumbling to the computer as my vain attempt to float to the surface fails, and I sink into quicksand.
An eternity of cold before brief warmth; noise and light, however uncomfortable. Travel over little valleys and hills, jarring bones and straining muscles.
Eight hours in the same room with the same people and the same music swirling in our heads, faster, faster, louder, softer.
Only to do it again, longer, earlier, the next day.
Performance; professionals, now. Though we didn't get paid. Interesting how a piece of cloth, possibly a little disc and perhaps a medallion will be my reward for the blood and blisters.
Sitting through rehearsal for two days straight unable to breathe, with bronchitis and a migraine.
I love life.