On set one day, one of my writers notes that she can’t believe how much of a show runner’s job is answering questions, all day. The props guy (WHO I LOVE) comes up to me carrying multiple cast iron frying pans full of rubber duckies and weathered bottles of conditioner, I choose. I choose actors and words and pants and songs. I weigh in. That night, I dream that I’m taking a very long escalator down to the middle of the earth, or a train. A man my own size comes up to me and starts to ask me lots of questions. Without question or hesitation, I pick him up over my head, and throw him down the stairs.