November 4, 2018

Morning spent rehearsing Brahms. It was about as much high culture as I or my voice could stand, but it went well, and our esteemed director had no cause for a melt-down. Sam has come to sit beside me, and his accuracy and my rich low range make a good combination. Spent the afternoon sleeping and working on a play, then out in the evening to see The Misanthrope at the Magnetic. The Moliere was re-written to be about a rock star, Alceste, and his cronies. The actors delivered the couplets admirably, but that sort of thing reduces after a time to seeing how close the adaptation is to the original (maybe because it charted no territory of its own), and waiting for the rhyme, either to applaud or disapprove it. I did enjoy being out, though, and the actors were worth watching. Unfortunately, the hyena was there (she seems to be a volunteer at the theater now) and everyone’s pleasure was compromised. I flirted with a man in the row behind me, but realized I was just too tired for that to have any outcome, so made my way out into the dark. They had Prosecco, but I could hardly stand.

That must have been the right choice, for I slept exquisite sleep and woke feeling sounder than I have in a while. Erotic images at waking, which I have learned to take as a good sign. I do fear tomorrow, for I literally do not have the strength to move my paintings and set up a show, and yet that is what must be done. I don’t often leave things to fate; this I am. I have been taking as much iron as I dare, and mounted the steps of my study this morning without having to pause to catch my breath.