March 22, 2015

Gray, soft morning. Last day of the Amadeus run, which saddens me, but which I know will be a relief when the final smear of eyeliner is daubed away. I occasionally think “this will be my last time on stage.” Sometime it will be.

Maud the cat embracing my left foot with affectionate ferocity.

Trying to remain mindful of my posture. It may be an illusion, or it may be doing me good already.

Yesterday’s pansies a blue-purple border on the porch at dawn.

My most frequent prayer in these latter days is, “Lord, allow me to love you.” Yet if somehow I could be absolutely convinced that there were no God, I would end myself instantly, running toward that fate as fast as I could, unable to face having expended all–and I mean all- my spiritual energy into the same void all my days.  Even when there is hatred, there is something; the one who has earned your hatred is still in your life, can still open the door and the two of you cross over.

The sinus infection–or whatever it is–has been with me since Thanksgiving. I haven’t sung a perfectly clear note in months. When I open up my mouth on stage, I’m never sure what’s going to come out. Sniffing, coughing, and in a rage at morning.