Michelle Williams is studying to be an EMT, working for the Red Cross, serving at Union Square Cafe, and forging her career as an actor.

I slept until 11:30 today. I couldn't help it. That means I slept through yoga class and precious study time. But I was having a bewildering dream: My entire EMT class was in Africa, in the middle of the bush, and we were making our way from one village to another. We were not rendering medical aid—we were just trying to survive. And we were dying! Of fever, of malaria, of exhaustion. The last thing I remember before waking up was a forest, with my classmates hacking their way on all sides, just trying to get to the next camp. Weird. I don't think that's an appropriate analogy for my class, but I can't control my nocturnal brain.

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Today I had a meeting with my agent, spent two hours practicing patient assessment on a stuffed animal, worked the night shift at Union Square Cafe, and have to set my alarm for 7 a.m. to get to the Red Cross by 9 tomorrow morning. This is the hardest turnaround I do all week, for several reasons. The first is exhaustion—my restaurant is always crazy busy, and I never get to sleep before 2 a.m. after a shift. Secondly, as much as you could call both restaurant work and Red Cross work "service" industry jobs, the only thing the two have in common is the need for infinite patience. At Union Square, I wear a (mostly) ironed striped shirt, I describe the filet mignon of tuna versus the lemon-pepper duck, I understand the importance of wine pairing, I put out fires when, as we say, our "station is going up in flames." At the Red Cross, I have to wear work boots, jeans, and old shirts because I do damage assessments on homes that have literally gone up in flames.

My title at the Red Cross is "Emergency Service Responder," and I am part of an incredible team that is active 24 hours a day, every day of the week. It's part of the Emergency Services department, and we are the field workers. We respond, every day, to anything that displaces people: building collapses, vacates, water main breakages, but mostly fires. There are at least two responders on at all times, driving around, waiting for the inevitable, and when there are "jobs" anywhere in the five boroughs we pull out our maps and drive to the scene. We do a damage assessment, which is used by us and by the Housing Department to decide what kind of aid we can provide. Our services include providing emergency food, clothing, and shelter, and referrals to other agencies. It's a gratifying job, and I truly wish I had more than one day a week to give the Red Cross. Most of the responders do it full time, and my hat is off to them.

The difficult part, though, is going from helping people who have been burned out of their homes to helping people decide if the foie gras is too rich. I understand that I have to maintain perspective, that the people who come to the Square have come to the most popular restaurant in New York to have a terrific dinner, but that contrast makes it a little harder to deal with the occasional guest who is unreasonable and over-demanding. Even more frustrating is the little time I have left over to spend in the theater world. When I visit my agent or go on auditions, not only do I have to remember to respond to my other name (in that world I am Wylde rather than Williams), but I have to constantly remind myself that it is OK that acting is not my main focus right now. There is intense pressure in the arts to live and breathe your career. But I've decided that I want a fuller life, and I know I am on the right path. I just have to remind myself every once in a while.

My EMT instructor had us buy dolls for class. We are having a doll parade tomorrow night to see who has the best one. These dolls are study tools, so we can practice the damage assessment wherever we are. I start by coming up to the doll (mine is an Easter lamb, complete with bonnet and bow) and determining if the scene is safe. If it is, I immobilize the head with one hand and pat each shoulder, asking the lamb, "Are you OK? Are you OK?" If I decide it responds, I have to ask a series of questions to find out how oriented my patient is. I then work through the lamb's body, performing the 10-minute head-to-toe assessment I described yesterday. I've found that I can do this on the subway, and people just think I am playing with my Easter Lamb.

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