Hello, I’m Stephanie Jones reporting from my living room with an ice pack on my throat and my trusty humidifier going. A mere two days ago I couldn’t talk above a whisper. I’m projecting like a madman. I’m gonna make it. I’m ready for the play.

“My my! Such a shrewd business man.” I say to Snydley, then look over to Bo. “Paying in advance prevents cheapskates from checking out early down the back steps.” I can see myself batting my eyelashes at Bo. “I admire a man with intellect.”

Is it possible that Maddy won’t be able to do it? Yes, of course. She has laryngitis. I do too, but I can be heard and I can project. It’ll hurt a little, but lots of things hurt. Like women’s first sex, but that’s always good.

Princess was driving me up a fucking wall today. I wanted to kill her. I nearly did. I yelled at her. I began to cry. I refused to let anyone see my weakness. I was living in hell. Everything was fine until lunch when I saw her and she wouldn’t stop talking. I wanted to slap her, tell her to shut her trap, and get a new bottle of water (for some reason, the water I got from the drinking fountain 5 minutes ago and put into my bottle tasted stale).

I need to sleep. I need to sleep with my humidifier on and take a shit load of cough meds. I’ll be better in the morning if I don’t talk. No problem. I don’t need to talk when I sleep.