January 27, 2015

Sidney posts photos of Broadway and 85th buried under snow. Dark and dry here, though plenty cold enough.

Woke an hour into sleep with tremendous cramps, leg and chest. Crashed through the house like a screaming cripple, unable to stand up, unable to breathe properly, trying to get to a water source. Then it was over. I react to hiccoughs and cramps with blind rage, thinking of them as wholly gratuitous. But I don’t listen to my body, to know if it is thirsty or tired.

Thoughts would not come into my head yesterday.

Judging new plays and productions for AABF. One of our number likes anything that’s by or about women, regardless of actual quality. At the last meeting she suggested that our contest be open only to women, and not to men. I said. “No.” Later on she asked me, with what I thought was sincerity, “why?” She’s maybe just anxious that women get their fair share, with “fair share” having nothing to do with present achievement. If we get a hundred submissions from men and thirty from women– though we specifically solicit on women’s and lesbians’ noticeboards–she assumes it’s because we’ve discriminated in some ultra-subtle way. It never crosses her mind that but thirty women felt like submitting. If we have ten prizes to give, six should be to women, five because they’re half the race, the extra one to make up for evil treatment throughout the centuries.