May 9, 2016

Days blend and meld, and I have not written here, and now I can’t distinguish one day from another.
   
The last matinee of The Winter’s Tale was my worst performance of the lot. Will try to locate the source of the distraction for future caution. Had I given up? Was my mind already elsewhere? If so, it wasn’t fair to my teammates, for whom I’d developed an unusual affection. The cadre of young boys at one side of the room talked a language sprung from their favorite stand-up comics, their favorite (usually sci-fi or fantasy) movies, and above all, adventure gaming. They carried on a game of Dungeons & Dragons which I found fascinating, mostly because of the upright way in which they all seemed to know and agree on rules that felt diffuse to me. It showed how men cooperate, how we become armies and bands of hunters instinctively. We say “yes” to what the other has proposed. It hurt me a little that when I was with them their eyes–all eyes–were glued to their phones and there was very little actual conversation. But this is a different world. When there was conversation, it was performance, which I could appreciate.
   
To All Souls for Cantaria rehearsal. For some reason I was seized there with a sensation of loss and forlornness. It was Mother’s Day, and I thought of my mother. The end of the day darkened. When you make mistakes or feel alone you comfort yourself by saying “Someday it will be all right. There will be somebody to comfort me, to laugh with me and make this tragedy into a little folly.” But the years lengthen and there is no such person, and you have not found a way to do it all yourself, to be your own foundation. You turn again and again, and the same room is empty.
   
Caught sight of my towhee, finally, whose sweet voice I had heard many times.