So one more weekend in the books. I saw a play- the theatre had NO Air-Conditioning, so I suspect I lost about 5 lbs. of water weight. The play was pretty good. I know the writer/director, and I keep finding that his work is visually stunning and the stories are compelling, but that they are devoid of real feeling. They always seem so clinical, and smart- but the empathy isn't there. It's not a problem with the actors- they were fine- it's that the language doesn't allow them to be.
Or maybe I'm just over-sensitive.
I have a ton of friends whose shows are opening in the next couple of weeks. Some I want to see, and others I'm seeing more out of a sense of duty. There will be a lot of juggling of schedules (and pennies) to see them all. I'm happy for all my friends, but I really really wish I was in rehearsal for something.
It's a lonely feeling, when all of your friends have something creative going on when you're not.
But the world keeps turning and tomorrow things could be different. Or, to be all Scarlett O'Hara: Tomorrow is another day.
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