April 4, 2014

Planted white dicentra. The guy who owns the nursery (or who was at least driving the tractor) is heroically handsome, like some old Viking chief.

Did my best performance yet, before an audience of nine. The human energy cost of doing a three hour performance of Shaw for nine people is too great, and I would have pulled the plug, I think. No one complained, though: not even I at the time. Some policy–perhaps choice of play, or venue-- should be reconsidered. I appreciate a chance at the repertoire, of course. Stopped at the hotel for a vodka afterward in my spiffy tie and vest. Met T at the bar. He followed me home, but I was exhausted, and so he watched TV until I don’t know what hour. Still trying to figure out how he locked the door behind him without having a key. Maybe he left through a window. Many dreams of travel.

Writing goes well. Having opened a new door, I find that the corridors are endless.

Gossip at rehearsal last night made me realize that I had passed a notice on the university listserve by without full comprehension. Our not-beloved provost is likely heading out to be President of Guilford. Though that’s good news for us, it amazes me that she could have done such a horrendous job here and still get what I assume is a kind of promotion. It’s like the Catholic church, where child molesting priests were passed on to new venues rather than defrocked. The upper echelons of university administration is a caste which perpetuates itself without reference to how good or how bad a job an individual has actually done. Poor Guilford, though.