Thursday, June 24, 2004
Thoroughly exhausted, both physically and mentally. The past few days have been too much about the show and too little about my work. I genuinely like these people, I genuinely enjoy the show, but I also have to make sure I don’t get caught in the daily-ness of it and use up too much energy that needs to be focused on my work.
I’m also very tired of the poor attitude of several people who work there. So sorry you’re tired, so sorry you don’t want to be there, but you don’t have the right to take it out on anyone else. It gets wearing.
And, I have to remember, that if it becomes a situation where there’s more bad than good, I can always leave.
Tuesday day work was three times the normal amount of work in the call, due to various things happening within the show. I did almost all of it, and left detailed notes for the regular dressers of what still needed to get done. The stench of dead mice in the walls of one stairwell is so pervasive I’m nauseous every time I have to go up and down the stairs.
At least I got a chance to do some mental work on the Halloween story due on July 1. I have my characters, I have their conflict, and I have the general arc of the story. Now I have to sit down and work on the details.
I ran errands on my way in to work on Tuesday – ordered the new cell phone battery, picked up some books I needed at Coliseum, and grabbed the last two issues of Poets and Writers magazine. The articles are good, and the ads give me ideas of new places where I can pitch my courses. It turns out that someone I knew in the Seattle grunge rock and roll scene when I lived there in the mid-eighties has just started a small, independent publishing company. I’ll have to let him know I review for New Pages.
Show on Tuesday was fine, and, since it was an earlier show, I got home before midnight, instead of after. But I was too tired to be particularly useful.
Wednesday out of the house early for two shows. A phrase in the Dawn Powell biography, “without promise of deliverance” strikes me as a good title for a short story, but I don’t know what it is. Yet. I don’t usually build stories from titles. We’ll see if I can find the characters that live under the umbrella of this title.
Matinee frustrating because of tired co-workers. Went off and had dinner on my own, at what used to be one of my favorite restaurants on Ninth Avenue, Route 66. They are the place that got me hooked on the beauties of a grilled chicken Caesar salad. I had one of my long time favorites – salmon linguine in a tomato cream sauce. Only they no longer use cream, so it was a watery tomato sauce that not only splattered over everything every time I used the utensil, but tasted lifeless. It certainly cost enough, and I was disappointed.
Evening show was okay, but, again, frustrating. I repeat, if you’re unhappy on the show, leave. Don’t take it out on everyone else. There are plenty of people who want to be there, and plenty of people who’d love to be on the show.
The train was filled with stupid drunken girls who’d seen the Madonna concert. Using “fuck” every other word and berating other people doesn’t make you a strong woman – it makes you an idiot. The worst of these little chickies was moaning how she couldn’t find a nice guy. Why would she, when she is vicious, vindictive and stupid? I know there are plenty of silly men who’d rather have vacuous than someone with some substance, but even most of them have a limit when it comes to vicious and vindictive. And, frankly, the men growing up ten, fifteen, twenty years behind me are much savvier when it comes to women then the men with whom I grew up. I think it’s because so many of them have been raised by single mothers. The younger guys seem to be more interested in intelligent, independent, fun women – in spite of the way it’s portrayed on “reality” television.
Even though I’m exhausted, it’s still hard not to sit up all night reading the Dawn Powell biography. It’s wonderful.
Today has to be a day of focused work.
I brainstormed yesterday with a good friend about the formation of the WHA and that I want to be involved with it.
“What do you want to do?” he asked.
“I’m not sure. That’s the problem. I don’t know what I should do.”
There was a slight pause. “Run it?” he suggested.
I only wish!
Got my hair cut – a nice, easy care cut for the summer that looks good, but won’t drive me nuts in upkeep.
Spent the morning tweaking Dixie Dust Rumours and got it out to the editor. Put a note on the calendar to do a follow up in February – this publisher warns to expect an eight month response time.
Received my new cell phone battery and it’s merrily charging.
Worked on the information for the July newsletter.
Still no check from the magazine. I’m sending a second request, including a late fee. Enough is enough.
My Llewellyn editor contracted me for three articles for another almanac – I think it’s 2006. I think all the 2005 articles are in, and I’m now working on 2006. They’re interesting pieces, some of which need research. But they’re not due until September 30, so I have some time.
The BTP play is percolating and about to explode. I need to write the first draft of a play in one sitting, so I have to block time where I don’t have to worry about running to catch a train for the show. I’m hoping that I can preserve enough energy during the Sunday matinee so that I’m ready to go on Sunday night and can pull an all-nighter into Monday, if need be.
Starting to work on the Halloween story. I’d like to get a first draft done today and tomorrow, so that I can do a revision after I write the first draft of BTP.
Time to eat dinner and catch the train for the theatre.