It's too late to write and it's been a hard, hard day including ugly crying, like Gradydoctor says, and then a rehearsal that was so bad, so bad, so bad. I have chiseled these words and lines into my brain with a dull-edged tool and yet still, some of them come slowly or not at all and all of us are like this and we haven't worked with sound effects or costume changes and there was an opera going on upstairs or something like it, great crescendos of voice and piano and crashing down again and we all faltered and lay panting on the stage like great whales without their voices.
We have two more rehearsals before we open.
It's too late to write and it's too late to go back and get it all right from the get-go and the dogs pushed me over the edge today and don't even give me any advice because none of it is going to work. You have dogs, they are like children. What? You just stand on the street corner of Craig's List and give them away?
I think of all of the completely wasted time I have spent in the last eleven, twelve? years walking these dogs and cleaning up after them and getting them groomed and giving them their flea medications and today I washed them with flea shampoo and then I found a flea on Owen's face when I was reading him Are You My Mother?
He held me tightly, that boy did, when we got to the scary part with the SNORT and he reassured me that the baby bird would find his mother (we have read this book about ten thousand times) and when the baby bird DID find his mother, he hugged me even tighter. See? See? His mother came back.
"Once upon a time," I tell him when I am softly rubbing his back, "Once upon a time there was a very old turkey named Mr. Peep."
And I tell him the story until we both fall asleep and today, when he got here, he pulled a chair up to the kitchen door. "Wait for Bop," he said. "We have to take a nap first," I told him. "Bop will come after we nap." And that was okay. He believed me and it turned out to be completely true.
It's all okay. I am just overwhelmed, over-filled.
It's all okay.
I don't remember how to just be but being is something we can't avoid and that is something to hold on to.
So I am, holding on and this is nothing, just a play, just a life, just dogs, just...yeah. Life. And not a bad one at all but a marvelous one and it is time, thank god, for sleep.