3:01am – At this point I can take morning DJ off the career list. Maybe this explains why Dean Blundell sucks. No, it can’t just be the morning.
3:12 am – The top of my aftershave lid falls into the toilet. Thank God I flushed beforehand.
3:23 am – Asking for a cup of coffee at the Coffee Time on the way has them emptying a murky sludge into a paper cup that could very well save my life.
3:55 am – At Second City, the mainstage performers have been there all day and will be there until it all wraps up today at 10:30pm. And I think I have it bad. They’re taking the 16 or so Conservatory grads in two groups of eight and split them into two half-hour slots. I’m in the latter one and wonder what I would have done with that extra half-hour of sleep. See Naomi Snieckus there. She’s waaaaay too perky for this.
4:28am – Take the stage with seven others and notice that indeed there still is a crowd assembled here. Would the fact that they’re serving food and beer around the clock have anything to do with this?
4:36am – Do a scene with Paul Constable and two other grads about dead sexy Irishmen. I was dead sexy. Derek Flores directs us through the scenes.
4:53am – In a big old game of Switch, I tap in and Paul has me do 20 push-ups. Punishment for being sexy?
5:15am – Watch a bit of the mainstage cast go through some improv filler between us and the Sunday Night Live crew that are still writing scripts before they come on. It’s all about cutting it close.
7:02am – Sit at my desk at work and realize that I am now nothing but skin and stimulants. The bed will feel fine tonight I’m sure. Good causes the both of them and I’m glad I could help doing whatever I did.
12:03pm – Lunchtime. Woke up with face in soup.