My legs are covered in bruises from running into too many set pieces, ballasts, and awkward stands.
My arms have minor cuts and scrapes from brushing up against set walls, an unusually sharp-edged cart and who knows what else.
My hands are dry and calloused and in bad need of a manicure.
My muscles are tired and sore from lugging around cable, stands and lights.
I'll come home, plop my ass on the couch, and just lay there for a few minutes, confused. I often don't know which I want to do first: shower, eat or sleep.
And in a few short hours, it'll all start over again...
But I'm working. Oh hallelujah, have I been working. Maybe too much. I haven't had a real day off in weeks. But then again, after having suffered for a couple of years with little to no work, this sudden flow of paychecks is like raiding an unguarded maids' cart in a hotel hallway: You take more than you probably should, but do so because you'll never know when an opportunity like this will come by again.