February 8, 2018

The dreams I remember from last night involved rehearsing replacements for the play. I am depressed and disheartened, which I think looks to the world like exhaustion. Two kids I loved and fostered have destroyed the work of my heart. I suppose there will be an explanation why this is not as wanton and ruinous as it appears.  I suppose it will turn out to have been my fault in some way presently unfathomable. So far for the year I have two books which are promises and not yet real, and an art show and a production which have been really and materially destroyed. Don’t even know how to average that out. I sometimes torment myself thinking back–it’s surprisingly easy, you just lift the gates and they all flood in– on all my bad moves, all my thoughtless cruelties, all my blunders, public and private, and I find nothing as egregious, as wanton and pointless and ungrateful and ruinous as this. Karma cannot be blamed, unless possibly it is not MY karma that is at question. If a pair look back on this as a black deed of arrogance and selfishness forever after warned against, I might find some comfort.

Was in good voice for rehearsal last night.