wednesday night. the final room run-through before we take this dog & pony show to the theater: theorbo, gamba, lirone, harpsichord, guitar; Jonathan's Giove coat has been transformed to gold, and we all fawn while Brendan, standing in his top-of-opera 'dress' makes a face of mock affrontery. the tiny audience claps.
and now: at home with south park and a glass of $4 trader joe's wine. my back aches from a knot in my piriformis, and I am in a state of reclusion, turning inward to myself. I've been reading but not writing much, and eschewing time out with friends not because I don't love them but because I feel like I'm searching for something and have to search alone. or maybe I'm just tired and a little scattered and a little stressed, and still recovering from those weeks during our last opera when we were out too late every night of the week.
I'm bringing you another selection from my tarot project. I can't decide whether or not I plan to make a habit of raiding my old journals & archived writing. something about it feels wrong, dangerous: like I will stop writing in my journal for fear that my future self will come and drag my private musings into the public light. but I really like some of this stuff. I wrote this one on a night completely unlike tonight.
lately I'm experiencing life in the way I imagine an extrovert experiences it. I don't at all mean that I've suddenly bloomed, come out of my shell, stopped being shy. it's just: life is so busy right now, and I don't have time to grocery shop or do laundry; I just go to the office, and then I go to the theater, and I eat dinner with amber, and afterward I go home and it's nearly midnight, or I get a drink with the cast, and then I sleep. in the mornings I am happy there is sunshine, but I am thinking of nothing in particular, of nothing at all. people live their entire lives like this: never looking inward, never focusing on one's own thoughts, always in motion, always projecting outwards rather than in. it feels glamorous, active and young, happy, vibrant.
I have a massive crush on our conductor, who is young and has messy reddish hair, seems shy or at least tight-lipped, and is just nice nice nice. the fact that I have a boyfriend is one of the thoughts I have not been attending to.
it is really happy. I can hardly stand for it to change. it feels like it's balanced on a wire, all of it; the thin tensile of tech nights, drinking cappuccinos, beers with friends, laughing with amber as we clutch sodas and walk down first avenue to the theater. it all seems so easy. I phoned her from a state park at the beach yesterday. we'd been talking about making a road trip of her upcoming move to southern california. "let's drive the coast road," I said, meaning highway 101. I imagined feet on the dashboard, the windows down, laughing at nothing, stopping at kitschy stores for tacky souvenirs. at the end of the jetty the waves of the pacific slammed against one side of the rocks; the columbia river lapped at the other. the graveyard of the pacific. later there was a shipwrecked boat on the beach, its ancient rotting hull jutting from the sand and fog. I ate two ice cream cones for lunch, and drank coffee, and sang songs in the car on my ride back to the city. when I arrived at work there was still sand on my legs. this is it: knowing that life is good and worthy of trust.