I need a compass to tell me where I am. I rake the sky with my eyes as I walk home, searching for the moon, to no avail: the sliver that was dropping heavily to the west as I headed toward the bus stop just a short while ago, is now no where to be seen.
Of that I had been sure of, now lies in shards at my feet. Hope remains in some other form of possibility, no resemblance to what I thought was true, still perhaps, there is something left to find.
Off a day, all week. Think I might be coming down with something; doesn't feel like a cold. Worked late last night, catering a post-show event. The food was gorgeous, but fewer people showed up than expected, and no one ate much. At any rate, didn't get much sleep (home late and up early).
Did not have bad dreams. Dreamt about being an extra on a film shoot; they needed someone to eat cake (?), and I thought I should just be someone who wandered around (as you do), but they said, "No, you eat the cake." Perhaps meaning to stop being in the background of my own life. To take what's mine, what I've earned, because I don't often. (That came up earlier this week, too.) Some patterns are hard to break.
Early in the evening, the fast throwing of ideas for the (clown) show. Later, enthralled in the telling of story, knowing the inevitable outcome, and yet waiting for you to dole it out, hanging on every word.
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