pamie had a little lamb

and rewrote the whole show

So I’ve made the set list.

I have rehearsal in a couple of hours… and then I unveil it. I think it will go fine. I hope that everyone is excited about it. It pretty much has everyone in the show, and I’m looking forward to rehearsing it. A couple of really risky pieces, and a couple of safe pieces…

You could tell something was on my mind last night. I lost two of the four Scrabble games.

Man. Oh man. One of the cast just called. He has to go away on a family emergency. That means I have to recast his parts for the show.

Not a problem, see? Nothing can penetrate my hard core director shell. Everything is going to be fine.

Please send loving warm squishy thoughts to my friend. That’s what’s more on my mind.

Ugh. The Monks have been having some serious health deals over the past two months. People are getting sick, family members are getting ill, exploratory surgeries, the death flu that’s been going around… it’s a wonder we’ve put this thing together. I’m talking past tense like it’s already put together, but at this moment, it’s not together at all.

In fact, there’s quite a bit to do in a week and two days.

Don’t panic, it’s going to be fine.

I must have that new bouncing Tigger doll. 

Yesterday Eric bought Gyros. “With lamb?” I asked.

“Yeah, with lamb.”

“Oh, I don’t want any.”


“I don’t eat lamb.”

“Because it’s cuter than a pig or a cow? Come on, hypocrite, eat the lamb.”

“I don’t like it when my dad makes it for me.”

“Just try it, if you don’t like it you don’t have to eat it.”

That phrase hasn’t been said to me in a long time. My parents used to say it to me a lot. But I fixed that. One afternoon when I was about… five, I guess, I went into the living room where my dad was sleeping in his chair. I woke him up, sat in his lap and said, “Eat this.”

“What is it?” he asked.
“Just try it, if you don’t like it, you don’t have to eat it,” I replied.

“Well, now you’ve got to try it,” my mother said.
So he let me put it in his mouth. He started spitting it out. “Ugh! What is it?”

“Tender Vittles,” I smiled.

And they never tricked me with that phrase again.

End of story:
I didn’t like the Gyro, so I ate something else. I know what I like and don’t like, man.

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