Up late, but doing okay...still determined to live my life well away from work, even with those ugly theater politics getting uglier and darker with each day. The poison there is spreading, but true to my entry last night...

...I'm still working hard. I'm not going to eat so much I get fat and lazy. I'm not going to slow down for anyone. I'm not going to spend a single minute feeling sorry for myself and being inactive. I have to be working on something every minute of every day, at least until this heartbreak subsides. Yes, even at work, I have to raise the difficulty factor and find things I can do at my desk. There will be no more roaming around, no joking around with the people on the East side. All there will be is working and waiting until the next opportunity presents itself. Location #1, my desk. Location #2, my boss's office. Location #3, the bathroom. Anywhere else on my floor is misplaced effort.

I have to focus on the work, because it's what got me through difficult times before. I have to work hard because I'm directing four plays about failing relationships, and this could drive me to...well, self-destruction.

One interesting thing to note from past experience: Whenever I've failed at something, I always say, "I'm not doing enough." This time, although I suddenly find moments of sheer exhaustion, I'm really determined to push myself into the red, though not so far I start getting sick. Exhaustion is okay. Sick isn't. Lack of sleep and food is okay, perpetual migraines isn't. This is an every day thing, including weekends.

If I have to deal with a sense of loss and jealousy (thanks, Marianna, for THAT one), then I have to fill in those cracks, those flaws with task-oriented focus. I'm priming up the machne and getting myself fitted for blinders. I am not leaving ground zero for anything from here on.

And tonight, going to sleep so late will more than likely prevent any more dreams about her. I've got so many things to do tomorrow.