Plans, Best Laid, Bed Is Unmade

I have been busy, as I've mentioned. Busy with work. Busy with work. Busy with work. The house is unkempt, and as much as I am vexed with the Hestian inside me for caring about my house (homey as it is, as it's been called, and I'm vexed with that as well for its lack of modernity, or post), I do care.

I'd like the house to be "cooler" certainly. I don't really have the budget for it, or the particular point of view that brings hipster cool and modern design and urban flair all together. I'm too earnest. This has always been a failing of mine. Or a success, depending on how you view me.

Anyway, the house is filled with life and that's the way it is. The dishes are dirty. The couch is dismantled. The bed is rumpled.

I've been putting in 10-11 hour days, working on Sunday, but am looking forward to a nice evening out on Thursday and a day off on Friday filled with realness, walking, movies, food, and the farm. I'm obsessed with getting back to the farm. I find this so odd.

I realized in talking with the Green Gate Goddess that I'd never had faith in myself as a grower or farmer, but that's not true. I'm terrible with plants, yes. But animals. People. I can nurture those, understand those, create that particular alchemy that sustains and supports. Animal Husbandry, or well, wifery, would be the place for me. Let the plants communicate with those others who have that ear.

I miss performing. I've had this itchy feeling the past few days about it, It's been several months since I've been in rehearsals or a show, my 2nd Thursdays notwithstanding. I've been scouring YouTube and such for clips of shows I've missed, not improv, but scripted work. I'm struggling to manage my feelings around how art is created, planned for, envisioned.

I'm continually amazed by improv yes. There is a magic there for the audience if the show is truly top notch, but I think some of deep physical emotional mystic pleasure of improv is what happens between the actors. And sometimes I wonder if that is selfish.

I know I'm referencing Biography again, and I truly don't mean to be pander (but it's one of the most recent pieces I've seen lately so it's fresh), but it was a magical experience for the audience. I don't have any idea how it felt for the actors and producers, and perhaps I'll get that answer, but I watched a lot of faces that night, and I saw wonder and vulnerability and a damn lot of humanity. I think there is something wild about giving the audience that gift, that experience and being able to do it repetitively.

I don't know. I miss rehearsals and digging and I wonder what I'm capable of in terms of that kind of challenge. I may be too limited by my earnestness, though I don't think so. I think the show I saw was filled with a sense of love. I may be too limited by my lengthy dedication to narrative. There is time and age and years to explore that I suspect.

I think it continues to get down to being on stage and not being seen, being in that position just outside or to the south of leadership, of copping out and not committing to the path, even though fear and uncertainty will likely be walking hand in hand with me along the way.

It gets right back to The Sound of Music when I think about it. It really does.