It’s six in the evening, and I’ve been working–like, honest to god working–since eight this morning. Y’all, this is manual labor–for the national tour of The Wizard of Oz–unloading boxes, painting sets, whatever they want (that’s what I do). I didn’t even know this was a thing, working backstage for a touring musical. But apparently this show hires three or four dozen locals wherever they go. I got involved because I have a friend who runs the performing arts center here in Alma, where the show will go on next weekend.

As I understand it, a show will often “load in” the day before or even the day of a performance and “load out” the day after. However, the crew and all their equipment came in a full week early in order to touch up sets and run rehearsals for anyone new on staff. So this is my full-time job for the next ten days, including today. Anywhere from 8 to 12 hours a day, with union-mandated breaks for lunch and dinner. I’m currently on my dinner break–in my car–blogging.

I’ve got an hour to finish writing. And eat something. I should probably eat something.

This morning I helped unload boxes full of god knows what from three semis. I guess the show has four semis, but one isn’t here yet. Then I stood around for a good while doing really not a damn thing. As someone who’s used to being productive every minute of every damn day, this was a challenge for me–to wait. I mean, I’m being paid and WANT to be useful, helpful. But I guess that’s part of the deal–you work when someone asks you to work–which someone did eventually ask me to do. “Can you pick up donuts for everyone?” my friend said.

“Gladly,” I said.

Y’all, I don’t know if this donut thing is going to happen every day, but I personally think god has a sick sense of humor–asking a man who’s trying to lose weight to be the donut runner. Can you believe that I picked up 120 donuts and a dozen bagels for everyone here and didn’t eat a single one of them? Instead, I ate a protein bar.

We’ll see how long my resolve lasts.

At lunch I ran home to grab a change of clothes, as I was assigned to the prop mistress, and she said we’d be painting sets. I think that’s the right term, prop mistress. Regardless, I’m this girl’s bitch, and I’ve even been given an official title–prop head. That means that the other three or four prop people will be my bitches–I think. (I’m trying to not let it go to my head.) Anyway, back to the painting. I thought I gave that up when I quit remodeling houses, but no. I’ve spent the entire afternoon working on Dorothy’s house (that goes through the tornado and lands on the Wicked Witch of the East), the scarecrow’s post/cornfield, and–I think–Aunt Em’s chicken coop.

This process, I hate to admit, has been more stressful than I anticipated. As one of the boards on Dorothy’s house was damaged, I had to start with a blank piece of plywood and mix layer of paint with layer of paint until it looked like old, rickety wood. What’s more, it had to match–or blend–with the rest of the house. Of course, I’ve had to do all this to someone else’s specifications, which has been a humbling lesson for me. I’m so used to being in charge, especially in charge of all my creative endeavors. But today I’ve been the student, “the help.” When critiqued, my ego has hated it. When praised, it’s soared.

Criticism and praise. Two sides of the same coin. Either way, same pay.

It’s fascinating being on this side of a musical, all the little details you’d never think of sitting in your seat watching the show, the lights and cords you never see–the hidden doors and hinges. It all matters. As I’ve agonized over every brush stroke, I’ve thought, The better this is, the more magic it creates for the audience. On the back of the Tin Man’s set, there’s a note that says, “Did you remember the oil can?” This clearly has to do with the show, but I started thinking about the Tin Man and how he represents a person’s heart, and how a person’s heart can freeze up or get rusty if they don’t take care of it with their emotional oil can. Personally, I keep thinking, Am I finding reasons to complain, or to be grateful? Am I taking things personally, or giving grace to others and myself? Am I freezing up, or keeping my heart open?

Am I remembering my emotional oil can?