July 14, 2016

 Vive.

 Active day, again, at the gym. Some writing. Some thinking about writing. Stopped by the studio and worked on–finished, I think-- the 4th of the Empress paintings. Steve has moved downstairs, so, except for the girls who come in the evening, I have the vast top floor to myself. Rough living, as the supply of drinking water and trash service disappeared along with the former owners. Went to the studio partially because my dreams last night were of painting. Was a better painter in my dreams than I am in life.

Talking to Tom, I realized that the last two plays I’ve written, though very different in appearance and detail, are actually the same play on the same subject– a man is attacked by a wild beast, survives to contemplate the meaning of the event. Something going on in my mind while my conscious thoughts roam elsewhere. Writing a novel about the nursery I should have kept in Ohio.

Sit in the attic in the blast of my fan, the only habitable place.

HART tonight. I missed a verse at the matinee, have been going over it in my head until it has lost all meaning and is just a string of syllables. .