03.21.2004 4:02 pm
cajun breakfast

Slept badly last night. I didn't want to go to sleep, perhaps because of that nap I took during "Company." As I watched from the catwalk, I thought about perspective. No one directs for the show to be seen from above. I'd love to have a black box space like so many other theatres have, with a second-floor balcony. Ithaca College has one, and I know they directed a show a few years ago with the playing space on the floor and all the audience watching from above.

As I was returning to watch the second act, I hit my head on a beam. All 5'4" of me is just tall enough for the cross-pieces to catch just above my hairline. Hit my head and fell like a bag of bricks to the walk, waking around two minutes later. I watched the first fifteen minutes or so of the second act, then fell asleep. Corey told me later that I could've died. People do that, when they get concussions, fall asleep and don't wake up. I was fine, though. I blamed it on the flask of gin I'd ingested.

I'm going to see the show again this afternoon, hoping to intersect with someone who will join me to watch "Play Misty For Me," because it feels so lame, so devotional, to watch it by myself. I am an actress. I follow in a long line of actresses who believe that there is no such concept as religion, or government, community, or even family. There is only art. Art that must be created. Wink, wink, nudge, nudge. Say no more, say no more.

Spent this morning with Kate, after she and Corey and I, all having slept at my house, went out to breakfast. Corey had to leave for his El Cid rehearsal. Kate and I bummed around, smoking cigarettes (I will quit), renting movies at Videoport, and watching "Bowling for Columbine," which she had never seen. I must have seen it seven or eight times now, and each time I cry. I cry when Dylan Kliebold's (sp?) father calls 911. "I think my son may have been involved in the shooting at Columbine."

Ryan kind of pulled the "I want to be in a more serious relationship" card at the party, which aggrivated me once the drunk wore off. I don't want him for a boyfriend. He doesn't talk to me. I need someone who will talk...

"how you watch the rest of the world from a window / ...how you feel when voices that come from the window go / until they distance and die / until there's nothing but sky / and how you're always turning back too late / ...how the kind of woman willing to wait's not the kind that you want to find waiting / to return you to the light ... / and when the woman that you wanted goes / you can say to yourself / 'well, i give what i give' / but the woman who won't wait for you knows / that however you live, there's a part of you / always standing by / mapping out a sky" -sunday in the park with george

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