August 21, 2015

 Days washed away with obsession with pain. I suppose if it’s REALLY prolonged you learn to deal with it. I would have to overcome rage first.

Having skipped me twice, the cleaners are downstairs, eating away my afternoon, when I was specific in their needing to come in the mornings. Rage at them deflected because they are not the ones who make (and demolish for bad reasons) the schedule. Besides, they cleaned out my oven, gratis. Can’t get to my medication. Can lie down and sob myself to sleep, which is what I want to do. Sobbed in the car hearing about 13 year olds in prison (life without hope of parole) for one mistake, or for no mistakes at all, unjustly condemned, raped every night of their life. That is something to weep over. Me, I’m just futile and frustrated and exhausted and at the end of the week when everything has gone not only bad, but worse than anyone could have imagined. Even rats have their bolt holes. . . .

Went to the Magnetic Theater to see J’s latest.  Two of my students were there as well, so we made a merry company. The show was admirable in every way, skillfully acted and presented. It was meta-theater– a kind of theater I neither do nor appreciate very much. The fact that I respected and admired it nevertheless speaks the more for it. It was all brain, to be taken in and appreciated by the brain. This is startling to me. If J and I were the same person, we’d be the greatest playwright in the world.

Tired unto whimpering. Must go down and get for myself at least an aspirin.