My Friends Would Think I Was A Nut

My fingers are itchy.

That means inspiration or melancholy.  Maybe both.  Hard to tell.  But either way I’ll write.

I don’t have much to say at the moment.  I’m just flowing with the tide of life for the time being.

Thus the thoughts will come in waves.

I have an amazing job.  My dream job, actually.  But I work entirely alone in a big old drafty creepy building and the isolation is starting to get to me.  Plus I live entirely alone in ND so there’s that built in isolation as well.  And it’s cold.  And snowy.  I’m land locked.  I can see forever.  Forever is flat and dry.  Strange for a big city extrovert.  I’m going to NYC over the pagan bunny ritual weekend.  That’ll be nice.  I want to see Book of Mormon and Play Dead.  And eat sushi.  A lot of sushi.  Jeremy Piven mercury poisoned quantities of sushi.  And Thai.  And Ethiopian.  And Korean BBQ.  And and and…

My roller derby team, the Bisman Bombshellz, has their would-be first home bout this weekend.  It sort of got jacked, hence the “would-be.”  It’s still happening, but it’s…jacked…I guess.  So it’s more of a shit storm freak show now and is going to be one hell of a ride.  I’m so proud of my sisters.  I can’t wait to see them roll.  I’m not skating (or singing) in this match.  Thank the founder of the pagan bunny ritual for that one.  I’d rather live.  That and drink with my 3^rd wife and cheer for my girls.  Next time though, anthems and skates for me.  Come support.  I do love me some roller derby.

I’m in the thick of rehearsals for a community theatre festival in our neighboring state.  My scene partner and I have already put in four, solid, arduous weeks of work on the thing and still have a long way to go.  I threw together a last minute, ill-conceived idea for a Shakespeare medley in order to avoid paying royalties and to register by the deadline, and the piece is proving to be a regular bitch.  A showcase of dream roles and a patchwork script full of the most challenging, non-linear, unintuitive lines ever written.  And no regular director.  A recipe for an amateurish disaster.  That being said, we’re overcoming, and with a little more help from our friends, just may make something of the monster.  We’ll find out in about 10 days.  When it’s all said and done, it’s a shame that this astounding effort will be realized only once and in a half empty auditorium of strangers.  The things we do for art.   

The current show is mid run at Dakota Stage.  12 Angry Men.  13 very pleasant male actors wandering around the place in the evenings and wreaking havoc on my bathrooms.  It’s a nice change of pace and a break in the solitude, anyway.  The production is solid and tickets are selling relatively well.  I’ll keep my position another day, it would seem.  I like performance time.  My dark, dank, dreary venue hustles and bustles and fills up with people and chatter and the lights come on and coffee gets made in a big giant urn.  Mmm…coffee…damn, son…

Mom was sick.  Off and on for a month.  In and out of the hospital.  Again.  Oh that infernal, fucking hospital.  Shit care this time.  Shit shit shit care.  Bad enough that I got furious and staged a sit in until I got her the attention that she deserved.  “You’ve awakened the wrath of the daughter, now,” I told the hospitalist on call.  “You’ll be damn sorry that you ever went to med school.”   I think she is.  Regardless, mom’s getting better, or seems to be.  She’s back at work and I haven’t seen her in a week so we must be returning to normal.  Getting admitted is the only way that I’ll carve out time to spend with her.  I’m beginning to think that she does it on purpose.               

I just got word that Todd’s coming home for a few days.  It’s not under happy circumstances but I’ll be happy to see him none the less.  Todd = joy.  Always.  So we’ll hang out if I can make some time.  Big if.  Somewhere in this town I have an ailing grandfather that I never visit and a crypto-niece that I have yet to meet, and I desperately want to see both.  Everyone goes to bed at 9pm around here.  That’s when I start my social hour.  More isolation.  But not Todd.  Todd will “sleep when he’s dead.”  So I eagerly anticipate the company during the witching period. 

Jason is writing a new musical that’s going to be absolutely brilliant.  It could very well be his golden ticket.  I wish I was there to watch it grow.  I’m so proud of him.  I miss him.  I miss Chicago.  And I miss Allison.  Holy crap do I miss Allison.  Maybe a trip in some direction is in order.  I miss a lot of people and places.  I’m getting a travel bug.  A friend bug.  Come, summer, come.  I wish Hovden was here. 

Solsbury Hill is in my head.  Boom boom boom.  It’s been lodged there for days.  It’s springy, yes?  Grab your things; I’ve come to take you home.