Bye Bye Mr. Marmalade

Last night, the show closed. The run was fantastic and last night we had about 70 people in the audience, two of them being my therapist and her husband. I was kind of worried she would think I was super disturbed, since this play is super disturbing, but she found it very intriguing and said she had to go off and think over the show for awhile. She sent me a text later telling me again how much she liked it.
I went to the cast party afterward at the director’s house. We all had a lot of fun in the pool and it was just a great time. Most of the cast had assumed I wasn’t coming because I hadn’t gone out with them the two previous nights, but I saw the director’s house as a much safer place than the bars they went to. There was still stuff I had to just ignore though, like when I was led around to the front of the house by one of my cast members only to be offered some pot. I did not partake.

Our director gave us all gifts and cards, and almost cried while making his goodbye speech. This play was such a great experience, and a nice low-stress one as compared to August. I was the theatre were closer; the drive was ridiculous. But the board told me last night that they’d love to have me back.


I’ve been pretty calm about my surgery up until last night; having the show as a distraction was great, but as soon as I had said goodbye to my therapist and was driving to the party, I started to feel nervous. In less than a week, I will no longer be weighed down by these awful breasts. I’m worried that something might go wrong with the surgery or recovery, or that the results might be disappointing (especially if they’re still too big.)


Work is winding down for me. This afternoon, I drove to work location for tomorrow through Wednesday, which is 95 miles away from my house. I had heard stories about the owner of the small hotel where my coworkers, and now I, have been staying. My coworker Kelly reasonably asked the owner if she could leave the key to our room at the front desk for our other coworker Steph. What she expected to be a simple exchange ended up lasting a half hour. Finally, Kelly just walked away with the key as the owner yelled, “It’s better this way, sweetie!” She then had to drive to another state to get the key to Steph.
For me, Steph hid a key behind a tree. Yes, a tree. I had to crawl under a pine to get the hotel key because the owner refuses to give the guests their own keys. When I got into the room, I noticed that it hadn’t been cleaned. I know that happens sometimes, so as I was heading out to hunt down some dinner, I stopped into the office to ask if it could be cleaned while I was out. After all, the trash cans were overflowing, there were no clean towels, and the soap/shampoo was out (I brought my own of these, but he didn’t have to know that.) But before I had even finished my sentence, he started shaking his head violently.
“No,” he said with an accent. “No. I clean when you leave.” (Which means the room hasn’t been touched since last Wednesday or Thursday.)
“Can I at least have some clean towels?” I asked. He shoved a single towel and a roll of toilet paper into my arms, which means I’ll have to go back.

When I got back from getting dinner, I stood in the doorway and looked at the four dirty towels on the floor, knowing there were two or three more in the bathroom. I thought about how he treated Kelly and me, and how he will treat me tomorrow when I go back for more towels or a washcloth. So I gathered up all the dirty towels and I dumped them outside the door of my room. All of a sudden, the owner was very interested in me- knocking on my door, calling my room. But unfortunately, it appears I’m out for the night.


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