September 11, 2026

Terrible anniversary. Everybody of a certain age has something to remember.

Revision of plays that will never be done, better and better, pearls lying in a sealed casket. 

Can’t write a sentence without making two typos

AVLGMC last night. Labor over music not worth laboring over, everything chosen with an eye to mediocrity. Calculated mediocrity is even worse than organic mediocrity. Thomas leaves the rehearsal room for a while, then mopes in the car about not getting any of the solos. I agree it is absurd. He would have been the best, but something else was in the mix. Best doesn’t matter anymore. When do I decide what to do about it? 

Great joy last night when two screech owls came to my trees, gurgling and ghosting in the darkness. I loved them utterly.