It's as beautiful a morning as you've ever seen here in Lloyd, Florida this morning. I mean, flat-out call Ripley's beautiful. Call Hollywood and tell 'em to send a film crew beautiful. Make your soul jump and shout beautiful.
I am so tired.
Last night went fine. It was fine. Fine, fine, fucking fine.
I just felt so flat.
I didn't bring down the house nor did I pull over the set. I only tripped over the step-down place once.
Then when I got home I couldn't sleep. Could not sleep until around three. And woke up in time to do this and get back to the Opera House to set tables. I feel guilty as hell because I should already have my spring garden in. The potatoes and peas and more greens and onions. Should have been done by Valentine's Day.
I'm having house dreams again. In the one I was having this morning, I somehow had a huge house that was still filled with someone else's stuff. People were trying to come in and buy the stuff. I was paying people to come in and help me organize. The "yard" was a huge field surrounding the house and I was overwhelmed at the prospect of making it into what I consider a fine yard. Trees and flowers and a garden. Flat, planted fields. A dry pool. Ugly as homemade sin.
Why am I having house dreams? Moving dreams? I could hardly be more established than I am here, right here. Am I about to die? If so, dear god make it quick and painless and IN MY SLEEP, LET ME GET SOME SLEEP!
Oh yes, let me get some sleep.
Well. Time to go back to Monticello and set tables for tonight's pre-performance dinner. I don't need to eat breakfast because at two a.m. I ate half a strawberry-rhubarb crisp. It worked, too, I fell asleep pretty quick after that. A tiny miracle occurred in that I was so cold and I moved to the guest room because I knew I was keeping Mr. Moon awake and I took the big comforter which he hates anyway and the small dog and when I got in the guest bed I said, "Zeke, please come get under the covers with me," and he did. He snorgled his way down under all of the sheets and quilts and settled down behind my knees. He hasn't done that in forever.
It's a beautiful morning. I'm going to drive to Monticello and honey, I am taking a nap this afternoon. No. Not a nap. A night's sleep Part II.
Truvy is on her feet all night long, dispensing witticisms, doing hair, and hugging her friends. She is tired. She had weird dreams all night.
Here we go. Here we go. Here we go.
Life as we know it, life as we make it up, life on this beautiful day in Lloyd, Florida, whether we are tired or not, flat or not, dream-ridden or not, here we go, dreaming of flat fields where our spring garden should be coming up already.
I love reading this loved reading this will love coming back to this. In this you remind me of spring which is nowhere to be seen in the rain sodden northwest where I can't even begin to think of garden until the Ides of March when I plant my peas and beans no matter what and most especially of the work of performance night after night goddamn mary I miss it so much and it does my heart good to find someone for the first time in the eleventy years since I've had a blog picking up that peculiar exhausting exhilerating thread and running with it. Thank you thank you thank you, Truvy. I'd give anything to be there and watch to bring you flowers every single night and to go out with you after.ReplyDelete
Hum. You are not dying. The house is you, so I suppose moving is about change. Or, organisation. Movement. And yard guilt is yard guilt, I suppose!ReplyDelete
I hope the rest ofthe shows go smoothly and fun!
Radish King- I have been wondering how real performers do this night after night after night. Doing it two nights a week and a matinee for three weeks is about to make me weep with despair. I mean, I'd rather do seven performances of any sort a week, I suppose, than be a roofer in Florida in August but still...it's not easy. It's a special kind of tired, isn't it? It DOES have an exhilarating thread running it through it which makes it hard to settle down afterwards.ReplyDelete
I wish you were here too. Damn. But there is no place to go out afterwards. None. Home. We do sit around downstairs at the Opera House and drink our free alcoholic beverage and see if anything is left over from the dinner- a green bean, a bit of salad- because of course we are starving.
Thank-you for those words because you know, I am not a professional and it helps to have some perspective on this. You are so dear, Ms. King. So dear.
Jo- I guess. In which case I have a lot of personal shit I need to get rid of. Which maybe some people want to buy?...
I doubt that.
I am sure you aren't dying, Ms. Moon. You are too full of life and love to die. And there are plenty of days next week to get your garden in. Enjoy today. And then tonight, I wish you a sweet sleep.ReplyDelete
You are going to be excellent tonight, because we are going to be there to applaud and laugh. And Billy can feed you your lines if you forget them.ReplyDelete
Angie M- Well, I doubt I am dying today and I hope not to die onstage tonight in any matter of speaking.ReplyDelete
Thank-you, sweet woman.
DTG- This is why I am nervous. Oh well. Oh well. Oh well. Thank-you all so much for coming tonight. I really love you for doing this- coming all the way to Monticello to see me in these plays. Have me a beer ready when I get offstage! Okay!
It is a beautiful day here too. I am enjoying the beach and finding the first shark's teeth of the season.ReplyDelete
Syd- Do you know I have NEVER found a shark's tooth despite an entire lifetime of beachwalking?ReplyDelete
A nap. I would sell my cleaner for a nap right now.ReplyDelete