Between Sleep and Sleep

 

October 21, 2021

Praying mantis longer than my hand on the dining room window. 

Beautiful moon lo these many nights, my back garden a bowl of profound blue just before daybreak. 

The kids at Asheville School sent me a card with their names and little messages. I’ll go to see the show tomorrow tonight. The kid playing Avi acknowledged my foreshadowing-with-a-hammer. If you’re not around high school kids, you forget they’re different from us. Rawer, with thinner skin needing less of a touch to send out sensations. Now that I have no students and my friends aren’t interested, I face the remainder of my time going to these things alone. 

Meeting with Katie and my director, whose name may return to me before I finish writing. They both saw the play’s weaknesses (though they didn’t put it that way) and made sound suggestions. Primarily, it gives me time to rewrite the damn thing. “Writing” in any sense is a jubilant word for me today, as I’d gone through a time of not being interested in writing and not being able to think of anything to write. Sitting down to play with the beach novel brought me out of that, as I figured it would. When I’m not writing the days drag on; when I am, there never seem to be enough hours between sleep and sleep.