I Hate My Interests!

So, wow, 1940s Radio Hour is going to really tank hard this weekend. Pacing sucks, blocking sucks, singing sucks, music sucks (and seems to change every time we hear it), people don't know their motherfucking lines (that's not really plural, actually, to be fair and yet still be vague about it), no stage manager, still no phone rings or lights -- in an 80 page script, our intermission comes on, like, page 62 and then people wonder, 'why is ACT I so long?' (pacing yes, I know, but no matter how fast we are at the top end -- that's still 60 pages until the audience can go take a piss). I hate the show itself. I hate Walton Jones. I'm having zero fun. The whole thing is a chore. And this isn't, 'woe is me' -- that holds true for the whole cast and the crew (what crew we have).
I take part of that back. I enjoy the car rides to and from the theatre. I enjoy talking the 'what just happened' talk with Larry, Sarah, and David as we leave.....and the 'what's going to happen' talk as we head out there. So far, that's the most enjoyable thing going. And I think that we are keeping each other sane. We are laugh and have a good time for the hour we spend getting to Eustis or fleeing Eustis.
I haven't got a clue how to improve things. Well, that's not all true -- "people" need to know their lines...cold, down, dead, exact.....end of the story. Music-wise, there I can't help -- I'm trying to listen for David -- and not being a musical person, I'm not going to start to question the band as to whether these damn songs seem to change from day to day. But I feel comforted by the fact that I'm not the only one who feels that way.
I feel so burned around the edges.