November 26, 2012

Extended, elaborate dream before waking. I was being thwarted by my wife-- a very powerful woman, apparently. I don’t know whether we were rivals in real estate or politics or what, but it felt like a real thing whose particulars are now blurred. One of my daughters was on her side, and it hurt my feelings. But one of my sons was on my side. He was funny and quick, and noting his funniness and quickness, I realized I was an archetype, that I was in fact Zeus and the son was Hermes. With this in mind I pursued another daughter, who was sullen and lackadaisical. I convinced her to come to my (quite beautiful) apartment in Rome and go through some kind of ceremony, which dissolved layers of indifference and actual darkness around her. She was Artemis, and with her on my side, we began to turn the tide. But there was a deep ache in my life, which was another son whom I missed terribly, who was under the same darkness as his sister. I captured him, put him through the ceremony, and his beauty when he was released made my heart sing. He was Apollo. My dream life has been quite deliberate of late. I lie down in a spare hour and summon a life alternative to one which grows more and more disagreeable, not by getting worse, but by dwelling seemingly forever on the same declining plain.

Fire at church yesterday morning. The alarm went off, and people looked at each other to decide what to do. Kyle and Todd plunged ahead with the service, as they should have done, for all the fire was in a plastic waste basket in the men’s choir restroom. The fire department arrived at confidence-building speed, and the handsome firemen soon had everything (there was not much of it, after all) under control.  They figured it was deliberately set.

Sort of good Cantaria rehearsal. Some rage possesses me there, to which I cannot quite assign sufficient blame. It gives me joy to have Richard there, one of my Exeter charges all grown up.

Began writing a play called Thanksgiving on Thanksgiving. Continue it at the café in a little notebook I must have bought for the purpose, fighting off the terrible music. I have written more plays this year than any other, but one, but this year’s plays are better.