It turns out that gin is NOT a good remedy for the common cold.
Neither is parading about in your unmentionables for two hours in what used to be a baptist church.
That’s how I spent my Sunday, with the guys and dolls, doing our thing for the holidays for a packed house. Now I have the post-show blues.
For three days my home was overrun with activity preparing for the show. My favourite little elf helped me glue and sew and pack and shuttle, and now life returns to the state we left it in last week.
So, I sleep until noon, I clean the kitchen, I continue to work through the laundry pile, and I eye the gray, rainy day warily and try to work up the nerve to walk to the bank in the cold wet.
I’m losing my voice today, which isn’t such an issue when I’m home alone, and perhaps it is better sometimes to just remain silent and listen. I don’t like the things I’m hearing, so I’m listening harder for more subtle, deeper signals. I’m listening with something other than my ears. I feel a storm is coming. My trick knee is acting up, but I have no idea when it will hit and so I sit here gazing out the window-wall and I wait.
I’ve worked hard for the last several years to make my life exactly what I want it to be. I’ve almost always done exactly as I please, never staying in one place for too long, sometimes stay too long in the wrong places. I wonder if I want too much? So many people are so content with a simple existence. They live quiet, peaceful lives, going to work, coming home, watching television. I want an abundance of stories to tell, riches of spirit, sensual experiences of the world each and every day. I want to create, to ignite, to delight and inspire, and I want colour and variety, and ever-changing possibility.
I want to bring joy to the people who love me. I want to be a great source of happiness, a ray of light, something they are thrilled with. All that other stuff, listed up there is possible, I think. This latter bit? Well, I guess we’ll see.