Category: Angst

March 13, 2003 /

Over the hump of the week now, I think. Wow. Coming back from SETC and going straight back into school things was like jumping out of a placid, cozy houseboat right into a sausage grinder (um, underwater). Makeup tests, makeup homework, Cento, road show, consultant meetings, old-computer hauling, more road show–it’s all been a bit ridiculous,and I’ve had fourteen hours of sleep in the last sixty.

Next couple of days are a bit of a breath, thankfully, and then it’s only a week until spring break. It looks as if Jon, Amanda and I are going to roll up to Bloomington to check out IU and maybe do some interviewing, even though Jon most likely won’t end up there–they apparently only give money to PhD students, and Wake Forest is still falling over itself to attach his name to cash for a Master’s.

Also, on the way up we might get to see Guster in Cincinnati! I want to visit people in Louisville, too, and I’m trying to figure out a way to get dropped off and just stay there on our way back from Indiana. Anybody have a room to let? I’m penniless, but I’m a right hard-working scullery boy, I have all my own teeth, and I reckon I can pick out a merry tune on my nose-flute.

March 6, 2003 /

I got her, Michelle, the director I wanted. My instincts were right, this time: she’s a genius. My director is AMAZING. We (where by “we” I mean “she”) talked about the play for almost an hour, during which she came up with better and more interesting character profiles and staging and motivations than I could have imagined. Her mind moves like water on hot grease. Synergy. This play has the potential to be incredible; I wanted to kick people in the teeth, and that may just be what she’s going to do.

I’m exhausted, ecstatic, emotional. Obviously I’m in a heightened state; I haven’t slept since we left the Days Inn yesterday morning, a low-contrast memory. But I’m excited too, and something in me is trembling. Doing this hurt. Last year I felt fatalistic about what was going to happen that night. This year I feel terrified, and joyful, and I ache.

I’ve written happy and sad before, but I don’t think I’ve ever managed to clearly transmit pain until now. I think The Laramie Project was the most important thing I’ve ever done. I think this was the hardest, and I think I did it right.

Twelve hours of sleep until I watch it come to life.

March 6, 2003 /

I kind of forgot to mention this, but I’m in Virginia. SETC again, and the 24-Hour Playfest again, and I’ve just finished the third draft of my play, which is pretty close to final. I’m an hour early, which may mean that (end-of-the-world joke of your choice).

I’ve got enough caffeine in me to power a small country for a week, so I need to be doing something or I’ll be fidgeting and bothering the senior playwright who’s going over my piece right now: thus the entry. I’m as nervous as I was last year, because there’s no safety net. Doing comedy is hard, but writing tragedy is harder, and I think I wrote a tragedy. Or at least something that hurts.

Tony called me out last year for only writing comedy; he said he thought I had it in me to write deeper, darker stuff. I don’t believe my comedies have any less depth just because their tone is different, but the challenge irked me anyway. They do that. So this year I wrote something with a bite to it. It’s the play I couldn’t write fall term, and if you were around you know what that means, and if you read the play you might figure it out.

Or you might not. I have to edit now, I think. I don’t want the ending to feel tagged on, especially because it wasn’t.

February 24, 2003 /

Louisville: Hands cuffed behind his back, fifty years old, two white cops, one black man, twelve bullets, and you know, I can’t stand it when people get uppity over every little thing, honestly, but what? What?

February 14, 2003 /

I’m so tired it should be visible: there should be waves of it rising off me, distorting the air like our old wood-burning stove.

Last night was the second and last public performance of The Laramie Project. The Fellowship of One, the group of (mostly, and oddly, black) local pastors who have been trying to stop us from doing the play at the high school, were in attendance. They’ve never been uncivil, but their arguments at such venues as the DHS parents’ meeting have consisted mostly of things like

Pastor: The play promotes a homosexual lifestyle.
Teacher: The play doesn’t promote any such thing. It shows viewpoints from all sides, including Christian values like mercy and forgiveness, and it shows what happens to people when a crime forces them to confront the issue of prejudice in their community. This is why we’re teaching it as part of our curriculum during Black History Month.
Pastor: The play promotes a homosexual lifestyle!

Last night, they left after the second act. Jeff, our director, ran out after them and asked what they’d thought of the show. Only one of them would speak to him, but what he said was

“This is a play about not hating people. You’ve made your point.”

We did it. We did it right.

Exhaustion, and triumph, and a ring around the moon.

February 12, 2003 /

Collective effervescence.

We’ve started the play, and it’s perfect, raw, gorgeous, exactly everything we wanted it to be.

Afterwards, I walked to the gas station to buy more caffeine (the presentation has yet to be done). I had a flower in my backpack from Deb, and was listening to a Duncan Sheik song, of all things, and I could see the whole scope of it: how last year was home, and this year is setting out away from it. How and why I’ve done what I’ve done, here. How this is the biggest year I’ve ever lived.

January 8, 2003 /

I’m living in a small apartment with some of my best friends, apprenticed in a trade I find fascinating, dating an amazing girl, working with a dream cast on a play that really excites me and playing in one of my favorite bands. It occurs to me that these are probably the best days of my life.

December 24, 2002 /

I wimped out on the Christmas lights this year–I got them on the tree, on the front hedge, and onthe giant mutant tree next to the driveway, but there they stop. Nothing like the usual electricity ‘n’ frustricity extravaganza, which involves between eight and twelve trees, lots of long extension cords and lots of short tempers. I don’t miss the aggravation, even if I do miss the look of the place.

But the lights are up, the oyster stew is downed, the comic is done and it’s only an hour and a half until midnight Mass. Christmas snuck up on me this year; I did all my shopping in two days, but that actually worked out pretty well. I’ve even conditioned myself well enough so that spending as much money as I did, even on other people, made me vaguely sick. Three cheers for my misguided conscience! If all goes well (and by “well” I mean “to grad school“), this time next year I won’t have a penny to my name, so I guess I should enjoy it now.

Audrey made me a quilt. Like a real quilt, and it’s incredibly warm and comfy. For the record, I’m in love.