there is so much about Galileo that I cannot fit into blog posts on the subject, despite devoting one post a day over on the opera blog, one for each scene of the show. there is too much to learn, and too much to say; I could write a term paper on every scene. I want to tell you how we thought the libretto was sophomoric, but how now, having read so much, I realize that nearly everything Galileo says during the show is taken verbatim from his letters. I want to tell you how well I understand his character, how much I feel for the pope, formerly his friend; I want to tell you how tenderly I feel for his daughter, devout and modest, full of love for her father; I want to tell you how every night when they release the lamps in scene 8 -- even here, I won't tell you more -- I get choked up. there is so much to say, there is nowhere to say it. the more I learn, the more I want to learn. the more I learn, the more I want to tell everyone. I am tired. I haven't paid my bills or read my email; I can hardly remember to brush my teeth. but one of our stage managers said it best, weeks ago: only once do you put together a show for the very first time; when it's over, it's over. you can sleep later. everything else can wait. it was on her sage advice that I finally decided to throw away the rest of my life for three weeks, which I have done without regret.
on my weekend away from work, I drove two hours to eat pizza with a friend; I babbled ceaselessly out a car window; I wore sunglasses and sang justin timberlake; I had a very fleeting and momentary dance party; I awoke with a headache which was easily quenched by four cups of coffee (my minimum lately -- seriously) and two ibuprofen; I lay in fuzzy blankets and watched game of thrones; I read game of thrones; I nerdily read more galileo biographies; I drank beers; I drank good wine from a friend's "sorry you're busted" gift basket; I sang loudly through rehearsal, from my spot in what I always call 'the eyrie'; I discovered I did not need the score at all in order to call the show. I slept not nearly as late as I'd hoped; I cleaned; I cursed the ants; I thought fleetingly that I should probably be spending my precious free hours doing something glorious but instead was almost totally content to lie still and be idle.
I broke a streak. or let it be broken.
I ran 3 miles.
in the garden the kale is bolting. the chard, having overwintered, looks glorious. the hyacinths came and nearly went unnoticed; I bent my face close to the earth to smell them. they'll likely be withered and dead by wednesday. nothing is planted because I am too tired.
somehow I have to start working on another show. I'm so behind on everything that when I'm at the office, I'm usually close to tears. one afternoon last week, driving home from the grocery store in a stolen moment away from work, I realized that no matter how hard I worked, or how many hours I put in, I was still going to be behind. a dreadful feeling. I'm content to work more, but I cannot work harder. I need more time.
driving the conductor home in the rain late one night last week, after a long rehearsal, she said, "you work so hard." funny how four words can make it all worth it.