You wake up at some ungodly hour in the morning, and you hear a demon whisper in the back of your mind, “Rise and shine. You have an audition today.” Screeches and cackles ring in your ears, and you spot a few dementors swirling menacingly around your window, threatening to suck out your soul.

You check the clock, and it’s only 8 o'clock. You were staring at the ceiling trying to go to sleep until 4 am, and you don’t need to be awake until 10:30. You wonder whether Desdemona-ing yourself would help you sleep. Perhaps it would excuse you from this audition. Just as you lift your head to retrieve your pillow, mangled by your own restlessness, your heart starts racing like the Road Runner is chasing you down a desert highway with a chainsaw in his beak.

You lie back down, examining the ceiling even more closely than the night before and waiting for the violent fluttering to subside. It doesn’t. After about half an hour, you decide to get out of bed since there is no hope for any more sleep today. You ease yourself down to the floor, your head throbbing and your heart pounding.

Your throat is dry because you have a stuffy nose and seasonal allergies. You Nedi-Pot to no avail. You turn on the cast recording of the show you’re auditioning for and realize you can’t sing along properly because your throat is too dry. You frantically toss back 32 ounces of water and a couple doses of your vocal salvation of choice.

You have reached the location of your audition, thankfully not forgetting any of your materials or forms. You take a deep breath and sit on the couch to wait and review your monologues and songs again. You won’t have to go in for another half hour—thank goodness you tend to arrive early, or you may have been faced with a whole new set of problems. The demon is abated for the moment.

Suddenly, you hear your name, floating through the dust, in your dazed, relaxed state. You think perhaps it’s the voice of an angel prepared to advise you on how to best impress the directors. It’s the stage manager telling you you’re on deck.

In a panic, your eyes flash to the clock. Not five minutes have passed! You still have so much time! You planned to warm up in a secluded room in the building. You planned to rehearse your monologues one last time before your reflection. You don’t have time for that anymore. You gaze longingly in the direction of that magical place as you are ushered into purgatory, the hallway where the people on deck must wait and listen to the flawless belts of the actors before you. You can feel your heart twitching and your head throbbing as they did earlier that morning.

You whisper through your pieces and pace back and forth through the hallway. You hum as quietly as you can through your song but are silenced by the stage manager’s head poking through the door.

Finally, it is your turn to audition. You take a final swig of water and clamber into the room. You greet all the stone-faced people behind the table and give your music to the accompanist. He’s played the piece several times already today… Well, at least that means he knows it.

You introduce yourself and your pieces, speaking far too quickly and sweating. Why are you sweating? You applied antiperspirant this morning. You lift your arms a lot during your audition to avoid pit stains.

Someone might have said, “Wow” after you finished singing. It might have just been in your imagination. Your throat goes dry, and you are breathless as you finish your last monologue. Someone laughed a little. Was it a pity laugh? You know you’re visibly nervous. Your heart is fidgeting enough in your chest that your hands thankfully don’t shake. You say, “Thank you!” and flash a weak smile as you power walk out of the room.

You feel terribly jumpy, and your heart is still racing as you leave the building and say, “Break a leg!” as heartily as you can muster to the people you pass. You get some food. You can finally eat without throwing up, but every time you think about the callback list, the level-up or the guillotine, your stomach turns.

You continue to refresh your email even though you know auditions won’t finish for another five hours. You return to your room to work on some assignments (unsuccessfully). It is then you realize that you put on a full face of makeup but neglected mascara. You must have looked so stupid in front of the directors. They were probably tittering to themselves after you left. Don’t you feel foolish?

Hours pass in torment, and you are constantly distracted by the “dings” coming from your phone. What if this one is THE “ding”? What if this is the callback list? Each time, you are both disappointed and relieved to see that it’s a message or a Facebook notification.

At long last, one particular “ding” resounds in your ears. You look down at your phone and see the words “Callback List” staring up at you. The Jaws theme overwhelms all auditory stimuli. Your heart accelerates at breakneck speed, and your fingers tremble as you open the email.

No turning back now.