Start somewhere

Must have a new housemate, the door is open across the hall, now there will be six of us to the one bathroom.

Just got home from the Nile Project concert. (A project that brings musicians from countries along the Nile river together to have conversations, find common ground-on things such as water issues and human rights among others - and create music together.)  Had thought I was working at it, it was on my calendar, so I showed up at 6:30 pm, but no one was there.  There was a reception, at 9 pm, and I wasn't working it, but they asked if I wanted to stay and see the show, so I said, "Yes."  I guess they hold a few tickets even when they are sold out.  It was great.  But again, it was a bit trance-like and I fell asleep for short bits, as did the woman next to me, and at intermission, two other women were commenting on that.  The woman next to me pointed out that I had dozed off.  I later asked how she knew (did I fall on her?  did I say something?  do something odd?)  She said she looked over and saw me.  Kinda' a relief, though I wish it didn't happen all the time.

They were all fantastic musicians, but the singer from Egypt, Dina El Wedidi, gave me chills every time she sang.  Amazing.

When I walked out to the bus after, it was 11 pm, hardly seemed like that could have been three hours, even with the short intermission.

It's cold and pea-soup foggy out now.  Have to get up early, have a gig as an extra in the morning, if I can find something to wear for it.  Not sure if I do, my clothes are odd, I never "go out."

Starting somewhere.  And as for the writing, I could use it with editing, if I wanted to.  I don't know if I want to, but it's a relief to realize I can come up with things that work.

Cheers.

Wednesday, sunny

It feels like magic, only it's the accumulation of doing the work that feels rote and everyday, nothing much special, and then out-of-the blue something coherent comes together.  Not what I thought I was gonna write, and could use refinement, but happy to have written something.  One week survived.  Again, the fear of "being wrong" keeping me from a bolder decision.  Saying or thinking about doing something and acting on it are different, obviously.  Still, I need to have more faith that doing the background work will get me closer to where I want to go.  Led by people who have been there before.

Took off of work, woke up with a splitting headache, I still have it, but I need to go to class.  Found a million ways to procrastinate this particular page of writing (the one for class.)  Something about it being publicly shared, everyone used such colorful language last week, mine more pedestrian, though it works for me most of the time.  Still it's intimidating, it raises the bar, even if I need to have my own voice, not trying to impress someone else with language that isn't mine.

Went for a walk to take some dvd's back to the library, the scenic route.  Sun shining blindingly in my eyes off of the water's surface.  The geese swimming, haven't seen them in a while, not on the water.  They were making grumbling noises as they floated around.  I moved closer to look at them.  They swam over to me, grumbling.  I didn't feed them.  They splashed water around for a while with their beaks, and then swam away, grumbling.  An explosion of birds hit the water all at once, splash and flutter.  Wigeons.  The boy sitting to my left pulled out his phone surreptitiously to snap a shot of the chaos, then went back to his book.  I smiled.  I woulda' done the same, but wasn't carrying one.

Almost five and still light out.  I guess it's time to go.

Wide awake and rambling

Can't sleep.  Overwhelmed.  Not writing much lately for the same reason.

The gist of my day was wandering aimlessly looking for a sports-related happening, that I didn't find, though I did end up eating tacos in a place whose smell took me back to Central America or maybe my grandmother's house; stumbling into a random hidden bar where I drank tequila with chocolate bitters and Amara, and told the bartender about the clown thing (and consequently fell off of my last wagon, really, though I'm not drinking coffee anymore); and then while finally waiting to catch a bus, having a homeless woman tell me to hug her and look her in the eye (both of which I did) before handing her a pitiful amount of loose change because my bus had just pulled up, and I was suddenly cold, and needing to go home.

The day itself was fine.  And yet all of my life feels like it's up in the air, which can be good, but at the moment, it's stressful.  Feel the need, the desire, to nail something down, though as soon as I do, something else crops up.  I spend my time putting out fires, and never moving forward.  Distractions.  Things I need to take care of, and things being pulled away from me when I'm not looking that I feel the need to defend, that I wasn't ready to let go of.  That I wasn't asked first.  That people made choices for me, without my knowing about it.  Disrespect?  I do exist.  Tired of having to have my guard up all the time.  Would like to trust.  Would really like to be able to trust, instead of feeling like I was just played.

Detachment.

And maybe it's all just the middle of the night talking, because I can't do anything about it right now.

Finished another Chekhov play (Wild Honey, translated/edited for story by Michael Frayn) in this state of insomnia.  Wrote, too.  Perhaps I should just keep writing, have yet to find a thread I want to follow.

And then there's the clown thing.

And it's just about 3 am.

Morning

The morning remains soft and still, even the sound of the cars feels muffled and far off.

Last night: a strong, yet soft, wind blowing.  The air smelling like spicy, white flowers, blooming just a little early.  The evening still light, reaching in inches further north as the days progress toward spring.  Writing in Joe Bar, the smoky scent of popcorn rising into the loft, preparations for a party, auctioning off remnants from the Harvard Exit.  I ran to catch a bus downtown before the festivities began, but the crowds and rumble of voices grew with each passing minute. 

Went and saw the Seagull Project's "The Three Sisters."  Loved the set, lighting, staging (Jennifer Zeyl, Robert J. Aguilar, John Langs, Dir.)  Didn't understand the female costumes, didn't seem to be set in any particular time, and that lack of specificity distracted me from the overall story, what was the setting, then?  Favorite character in this production was Irina (Sydney Andrews), favorite in the Cornish production had been Olga (Jenna Vershen), I think it was the choice of translations, stage time, and the former Olga was played as more of a heroine in her own life, than in this one.  (In Act III, in the confrontation with Natasha over Anfisa, the Cornish Olga dominated, and in this production, Natasha (Hannah Victoria Franklin) did.)  And in the Cornish production, I felt a greater sense of dreams diminishing more and more as each Act followed the next, 'til I arrived at the end with the sense that the dream of Moscow was laid to rest, but life would go on.  The sisters would face reality, and go on. I had a stronger sense of what story (out of many) was being told by that director (Paul Budraitis), everything leading to one conclusion, a "driving action" if you will.  (And that concept of storytelling is becoming more clear for me as I see it.  The concept drilled in by my audition teacher.)  In this version, though they faithfully told Chekhov's story, I wasn't sure what the "driving action" was, where was it all going?  And last night the audience laughed in odd places, during what seemed like serious confessions, though maybe there was a choice made to play them more melodramatically, and so they were playing for a laugh, i.e., the scene in Act IV, where Masha (Alexandra Tavares) is saying good-bye to Vershinin (David Quicksall), and is wailing and not wanting to let go, even before the point where Olga (Julie Briskman) was trying to drag her away, and she was still hanging on, people were laughing.  Was that supposed to be funny?  When the one thing in life that brought you happiness is leaving, is that funny?  I don't know.  It's possible I read somewhere that Chekhov's plays were comedies,(according to Chekhov) but I can't remember now.  I think my favorite actor in the show was Noah Duffy as Rode, (and CT Doescher as Tusenbach), I just enjoyed his time on the stage.   But overall, there were characters on stage who moved in bubbles.  Most of those characters distinct, actors making interesting choices, but not connecting with the others.  Finding small details and missing the bigger picture (again, driving action.) Perhaps they needed more time in ensemble.  Or perhaps, that's a conscious Chekhovian choice, to talk but never connect, to want to be heard but not to listen, as we often do in life.  (I had the same response to the Cornish production, they connected more, but didn't have the text that night I saw it, though both productions got more solid after intermission.)

The overall feeling of the production worked for me.  I found the play and characters running in the background of my mind after, even when I thought I was thinking about something else.

Time for the day to start.

After class

Last summer, in the same space, I felt like I no longer belonged there, like returning to an elementary school you once attended.  A week-and-a-half ago, same space, it was home again.  It's mine, I've freed and bared my soul between those walls.  I've earned that.

Tonight, spontaneous five-minute story of your life from birth until this moment.  Feedback.  Vulnerability.  I want to know everyone.  And walking down the block with a classmate after, we both thought we should close down the energy before walking outside.  Especially there.  Gotta put the armor back on, cover up.  Then flashing lights down the block.  She walks me to the next corner, turns to go back to her car.  I see more flashing lights on this block.  Pine Street blocked, cordoned off.  My bus comes up the street, I run to catch it.  It reeks of old, hot urine, and the heat is blasting, making it worse, but I get on it and sit.  I hear it was a shooting.

Two friends get on at the third stop.  One sits next to me and we talk.  After a while, you get used to the smell, and it's a fast bus ride at night.  Away.  Away.  Away.

Wednesday

Have begun to make myself cook, even if it's late (and it always seems to be.)  Added benefit is I interact with my housemates more.  (And I have something to take for lunch.)  And it feels productive, like I've accomplished something.

Our show is getting tighter but we have lots of work to do.  I will probably go with the idea I tried last night.  Three weeks.

Tonight, new dragons to confront.  All of them internal.  The thought both thrills and terrifies me.

Onward.

Very habitual

Still haven't been able to do the full elimination diet, have only managed to go off of coffee and alcohol.  Been really hard.  Partially, it's never being home, so not actually cooking anything, and partially, it's procrastination.  Interestingly, I've stopped obsessively wanting coffee, it's not a habit to grab it anymore.  I like that I'm here, now.  Maybe that can work with other things, too, not just food.  To want things/habits that are good for you, more than those that are harmful, or keep you stuck.  (I did drink a cup or so of coffee on Saturday, and I got ridiculously wired, which doesn't usually happen.  Drove myself nuts with the jittery nerves and rapid speech...could do without, really.  Not really adding anything.  Not saying I won't drink it again, just hopefully, not so much.  Not so habitually.)

We talked to the landlord, and the rent is only a $50 increase if we sign another year.  Good to have that info, but not ready to decide.

I had another idea to try with the clown thing, but we now have promo stuff out, so I have to nail this down.  Hopefully, the other two will indulge me today.  I just want it to live more in the clown realm than as some other type of performance.  And as George said after coaching, I will still have the idea, I don't have to use it this time.  I'm not losing anything by changing it.

There is no scarcity.  I need to believe that's true.

Bearing Witness

Went to this performance called "Hands Up! 6 Playwrights/6 Testaments" put on by The Hansberry Project.  These six pieces had originally been commissioned by New Black Fest of NYC, but the Hansberry Project decided to put them on here after the Ferguson decision.  They were six views of what it's like to be a black man in America at this time.  All were monologues. When asked what their first reactions to the script were upon receiving them, four of the actors said they identified specifically with the situation in their assigned script.

It was powerful.  The house was almost full, the audience, more mixed (gender, race, age) than you often see at plays here.  When asked why we came to the show the answers ranged from: to see good acting, to empathize, to bear witness, to understand, to listen, etc.  And then when the audience was asked what stood out for them, responses were:  holes, "hands up," "target on my back," "the talk," and fear, (among many.)

It was mentioned that the actors had voiced concern over the audience (knowing there would be a lot of white people), but in the end, what needed to be said, was said.  It was heard.  It was that space, the theatre (but art, in general), where truth can still be told.  Where you can be honest and raw.

And for me, I wasn't sure what to expect.  But I wanted to hear, to listen to someone else's daily experience, wholly different from mine.  And I gained some insight into what it's like to always have to be on guard, all the time.  To know what it is to feel like you have a target on your back.  To live in fear for your own life or for those you love when they step outside.  To always be considered guilty.  I don't know what that's like, but hearing it helped me to understand someone else.

And since I've brought this up before (you need to ask what is wanted before acting/speaking on behalf of others), these five items were on the back of the program under "What do they (the protesters) want?"  (And what can I do?):

1. Bodycams and dashcams on police uniforms and cars to record their interactions with citizens.
2. Special prosecutors for officer involved shootings.
3. Training for police on ways to de-escalate situations without resorting to deadly force.
4. Civilian Review Boards with the power to issue subpoenas.
5. Investment in poor communities to promote economic equity.

One of the performances I saw last weekend dealt with brutality/corruption in Mexico, and his experience of arrest (for protesting) reminded me of some of these stories, and finishing Orwell (which might be fiction, but it wasn't written in a vacuum)...these are real experiences.  Do we stand by and do nothing, close our eyes because, "the system is working for me," right now?  Does our silence make us complicit in someone else's suffering?  It makes me think of this Martin Niemöller quote:

First they came for the Jews
and I did not speak out
because I was not a Jew.
Then they came for the Communists
and I did not speak out
because I was not a Communist.
Then they came for the trade unionists
and I did not speak out
because I was not a trade unionist.
Then they came for me
and there was no one left
to speak out for me.

What kind of world to we want to live in?  Must we always live in fear?  Who do we want to be?

Emotional whiplash

The emotional high of last weekend to a roller coaster week, much, much more than usual.  I matter.  I'm completely insignificant, disregarded.  People I thought I'd connected with can't be bothered now.  Four people contacted me out of the blue in affection (not romantic, but love.)  I'm loved.  I'm nobody.  My insurance is balking on the ER visit.  I thought I had a stable living situation, and suddenly I no longer do...extremes all week, and all week, confronting me, making me deal with them.

I don't know what direction to take.

As far as the housing goes, I can remind myself that when I moved last year, I didn't think this place would be long term.  But the thought of looking for a place and the process of moving, finding help moving again...I wanted to get a longer break.  I'm bad with change (obviously.)  I'd like to spend a little time in a comfort zone.  I'd like to rest.  Still, for me, that's death.  I just stagnate.  I know.  I hate change so much that I stay in situations long past what is in my best interest.  And maybe all these things are gentle-(ish) reminders of that.  That it's time to move on.

I thought pushing myself in other areas of my life would fulfill some of that need for change.  (Is that irrational?)  It's not just the housing.  I need to change a lot of things, major things, most of them scare me, or make me sad.  But they just aren't working; they're comfortable, safe, and unfulfilling.  And then there's all the good stuff, all the art, and other good things, three shows that are kinda' a big deal for me, in the next two months.  I got through it last spring, and I will again.  There will never be time enough, and somehow it still gets done.

We are never really still.

Outside, nature's off stretching her muscles, and tapping at my window.  I shall stay out of her way.

Things to finally know

Went to two shows tonight: the ETI solo performances, which I enjoyed and was happy for the levels of vulnerability and storytelling from the performers, several of whom I trained with last year, so was good to see how much more they've been growing in craft.  (Even if I do feel a small tinge of jealousy, I'm still happy for them.  And I want to know what this "full prep" before a performance is.)  The other was the late showing of the 14/48 Kamikaze weekend (where everyone draws their discipline from a hat: director, writer, designer, actor, or band member, not being assured of getting something they have any experience with.)  Impressed with how well it went; impressed once again, with how well the actors connect with the text and with each other in so short a time.

Came home to find my rent is increasing by $105/month.  Sucks.  I'm a good tenant, not sure if I can afford it, or if I want to pay that much to live here.  Eats up the raise I just got.

Have also decided to grow a little more self respect.  And am now going to sleep, because I'm working at both shows I saw tonight, tomorrow.  All day.  Not deciding anything else for now.  Although, perhaps the clown piece can just be two people.

Cheers.