You built a reality and then you tore it down to build a new one in your head. You spent so long driving the nails into the first reality so it was sound and sturdy and now it's tough to wiggle them out with the pliers. You just don't want to, but you must. So you fold up all the windows and doors, smooth the curtains, sweep the floors clean of your footprints, pack up the props. You put the script up on the shelf with all the other scripts where it will become a green stripe of words that you used to know by heart. Characters are rendered one dimensional again, pressed flat against their facing pages.
It's depressing to leave a project that brought so much joy and growth. This week is a litany of stain scrubbing catch-up. Not bad. Just preparing the way for the next project. Because isn't that what life is, really? A series of projects that you work on, doing your level best to get a bright red A.