Saturday, Video Shoot

Still on target to shoot a video today, though it is snowing, snowing, snowing, and the world has once again become indescribably, unbearably, deliciously gorgeous.

I have survived eight months without this kind of glory. And stiff blue fingers as I type in the sunroom, the skylights blocked by pillows of white fluff, seems a small, yes, trivial price for such beauty.

This spring, I thought I'd written the best poetry I would ever write, driven by the winter's fabulous weather and my intense emotional reaction to it. I was wrong. This summer, I was changed in ways I never expected to be changed, and began writing more, better, deeper (perhaps). I experienced emotional upheaval as never before, and if it doesn't reflect back at me from the page, I will be dumbfounded. Though I may not be able to judge accurately until I have the distance of a year or more. Considering that the upheaval is ongoing, I wonder if I will get it.

It's very difficult to be objective about my work. I can say, "It's good," or "It's not as good as some of the other stuff," or I can say "It's garbage," and never know whether any of those statements are truth, opinion, or stem from my feelings about the subject.

Opening Night went well. A crowd of eighty or so turned out for Hans Brinker, despite, or perhaps because of, poor weather conditions. For a show set in frozen Holland, perhaps sleet turning to snow was appropriate. Garrett was his sunny sonny self, and the show, while imperfect from a perfectionistic directorial point of view, went off hitch-free.

My first physical therapy appointment also went well. I met Pete, who will confer with Chris, and they will conspire to care for me once a week, but it's up to me to do my own therapy at home with exercises designed to increase the strength, flexibility, and endurance of my injured areas. Once again, I am on my own, with minimal supervision.

When what I desparately crave is someone to watch over me, to take care of me, to love me and be there for me...of course, I'm transferring, and that's unreasonable. The Universe conspires to teach me independance, and I resist learning it.

No fault but mine, then.