November 2, 2007

Grayish, yellowish morning. We opened (well, a “dress rehearsal” with a paying crowd) Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf last night. I felt very fluid and “in the grove” the night before, less but adequately so last night. People who hated the show are not likely to stay and talk about it, but the people who stayed and talked about it seemed to like it to a degree exceeding reasonable expectations. I understand it is a shattering experience for an audience. It is certainly a crushing experience for an actor. At the end of Act I, I couldn’t believe that there were two acts to go, couldn’t imagine where I’d find the energy to do them. The crowd found the play a good deal funnier than I expected, but maybe that was the preponderance of students. After the show Mickey and Belve and Cody and a crowd went to The Usual for food and drinks; I could no more have followed them than flown to the moon. This is why I’m alone. When I’m tired and not hungry, I fail to join everyone at the restaurant in the dead of night. This had probably been a mistake. This morning I feel that I had done hard labor all day. Our directors were pleased with us. I think we are something not normally seen in Waynesville.

Jocasta scratches her chin on the edge of the desk. Three hellebores sit on the porch after I wrestled them out of their all-but-impregnable packaging. They wait to have their toes set back in the earth.

The gas furnace came on and heated the house this morning, having chosen the hour, apparently, on its own.

I walked down from the alley just as a screen fell from Caroline’s bathroom window.

On three consecutive nights I was on Main Street in Waynesville just at 11 PM, the moment when the traffic lights turn to give Main Street unimpeded flashing yellows. At light after light I would be gliding to a stop for a red, to have it change to flashing yellow just as I reached the intersection. It was wonderful.