April 7, 2014

A load of whites tossing in the washer downstairs makes an unexpected harmony with the rain on the roof. I wish Linda’s visit could be longer, but I had too many things to do here and she too many in Atlanta. Huge cheap breakfast at 5 Points. We both noticed the spongy quality of the soil in the backyard, which I coupled with the fact that nobody knows where the graywater pipes lead, leading to the conclusion that one should not inquire too deeply for now. Our director came backstage yesterday to tell us the day’s performance was “low energy.” Since I have the first two lines, and most of the opening scene, I take blame for setting the course. The experiment was to see if I could do the lines without going over them in my head while waiting backstage for my cue, which is usually all the reminder I need. Not a good idea. We ran over the usual time; I refused to stay for the cast photo (because of Cantaria; someone must announce these thing beforehand), Will S was late for work. I am never in the cast photo. I have gone through my life undocumented. Exhausting Cantaria rehearsal, then a celebration of Steven’s birthday at Avenue M. Awake part of the night with bile eruption, which I blame on the wolfish consumption of birthday cake. Troubled dreams, involving a cave or a long corridor made of stone.