31 March, 2004

Here I go

turn and face the strange....

I read Red today, saddended and encouraged at the same time. She wonders if she no longer writes about sex, will anyone find her interesting.

An interesting question, and one that I refused to bite bait on when she suggested that I needed a separate blog, one with anonymity. I responded that I didn't have enough sex to make a sexblog interesting.

She sent back specific instructions on phonesex; I haven't had the guts to try yet.

Unready, but not unwilling, I will begin to share memories.

Hard, hard, it's hard to designate as memories what I wish to be present experiences.

Harder still that I wasn't at full consciousness to enjoy these memories fully when they were present experiences.

Unless that was the point: skull clogged with mucos, brain function impaired by constant headache keeps me functioning at minimum, therefore taking notes on show and audience reaction rather than:
* moving set pieces
* giving light cues
* running errands
* etc. ad nauseum

I sit with J. of the lovely long stocking-clad legs (the lace tops showed when she dipped, ahhh...) quoting from the Bombshell Manual of Style. "I don't think I have any foolish shoes," she responded to one of the criteria. "Well, maybe one pair. Or two, but I never wear them."

"Whereas I own maybe two pairs of sensible shoes. That I never wear."

(There are those who are pleased by my choice of foolish shoes. More on that later.)

I watch my Cubans take my sketchy instructions and, on their own impetus, invent themselves as a unit, becoming the darlings of the show, as they were my darlings when I wrote them.

L. braids my hair for me, warning me that she might pull, but never doing so.

I listen to cast members singing songs that were never their own, because they love them so much, and the tunes are so catchy.

I squeeze into the corner with all the band's equipment to turn pages for JB as he plays warmups for the cast, not because he needs me, but because that's where I want to be, by his side for this project, together, as we started.

As we started. And have now ended.

Which is why it's still too painful to touch.

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