May 26, 2014

Facebook post from former student and long time friend K, saying that he has lost his soul and the best times of his life were in my class. I respond with the offer to meet, wherever he is, but how to know of that’s the right thing? Maybe memory is better than comfort. He had two beautiful wives (sequentially) when I knew him, was a goodlooking and talented man. I admired his calm and kindness. Maybe the rest of the story will come. I sometimes wake in the morning and contemplate momentarily the reasons I have to be content with what I’ve done and who I’ve been, a theme quickly overborne by the rush of reasons not to be content. Contentment– beyond a moment–seems almost to be orphaning the unachieved.

Sunday entirely given over to sleep, church, writing, which I remember because I see it on the screen before me.

Turbulence where Jonathan is in Thailand.

Receiving communication from the Foundation about plays and productions we might support. Producers somewhere want to do Moises Kaufman’s Gross Indecency, which ran with my Lincoln and was judged by everyone who saw them both to be inferior–it is in fact not much of a play at all, but a transcription-- and it’s the one for which funds are being requested. There was not one aspect in which my play was not better, nor was I as Kaufman was skittering around with his nose in the air like a lordling. They’re not going to get the funds, which is some comfort. Envy is a sin, I know. In fairness, when I saw Gross Indecency in Dublin I think I liked it. Maybe the second time was too much, even though all the boys had their shirts off.

Cardinals in the tall pines.