Friday the 13th

 

October 13, 2023

Day 2 of “flu-like symptoms.” 

Giant dreams, the one I remember taking place–again–in a gigantic university, tall, glittering at night with skyscrapers and musical conversations and lights. I walked about listening hungrily to intellectual discussions about this and that, in apprehension that I’d be cast out and only hear common talk from then on. I’d not been to class in so long that I wondered if I still had a job as a teacher, or that anyone would recognize me. I worried that I’d make no friends, but then I fell in with a group of men with a variety of interests. On the night I was fully accepted into the group, we gathered in one man’s yard to test out his flying cabin, a small square house hovering over the lawn. We climbed up in, and sat and talked and drank while the cabin flew through the night. I thought we were flying out over the ocean, but it turned out the cabin was tethered, and went around and around over his yard. I loved looking out the window, where his long property snaked through the neighborhood and came to end in the sand of the beach leading to the sea. 

What’s this anxiety about losing touch with a university? I feel no shred of it waking. 

Achy at waking, but recovered enough by afternoon to garden. Spread much mulch. Transplanted cannas. Planted blue anemone. Hacked bamboo roots.

SS cut the price of Ben and Angela tickets in order to fill the seats. Utterly defeated. Reviews don’t help, word-of-mouth doesn’t help. This time, in order to turn the usual tide, I’d sent out postcards, which means that just about every person I know received a personal, direct, material invitation. It didn’t matter a damn. Never again in Asheville. Even I learn eventually. 

SS opines that times are hard for all the arts.

Trying to help the company’s bottom line, seeing that ticket sales were disastrous, I went to sublime theatre/donate and donated. But the thank-you was from the local arts council, revealing that though I’d accessed what I thought was the Sublime donation page, I had actually contributed to the Arts Council, which I’ve loathed since days gone by. So I tried again, and donated to the right place this time. Got an email from the Arts Council wondering if I’d share what had prompted such generosity. Decided not to tell them it was a mistake. What a terrible day. . . aside from the gardening. Friday the 13th.