The Enchanter's Theorem

Got the photos in the queue for flickr, but they weren't done by the time I needed to roll in to the dayjob. Picture tonight then.

No hormone soup today and aside from an upset stomach and lack of sleep, I feel pretty good.

Morning was the kind where the pale sun washes out the eastern horizon to white, no sign of blue, leaving the world looking faded and lacking in contrast. It's warmer and the wind, for the moment, hasn't picked up. It will later I'm sure.

Had a dream about people I haven't seen in years. It's staying with me a little, I'm not sure why. A rather twisted nostalgia for places I've never been and people I haven't seen in so long that gods alone know if we'd recognize each other if we met on the street.

And for today's non-sequiter, Don Henley is (for me) a writer of quintessentially Los Angeles songs. I've always loved Boys of Summer and Sunset Grill, but until you live here? You get the sadness, but only the surface. Here, I get it deeper. The girl with her hair pulled back and those sunglasses on. The basket people mumbling. The auburn sky.

It fit the twisted nostalgia I woke up with.

Don't look back, you can never look back.

But I always do.

Was running a bit late this morning.

We're escaping early today from the bankjob. It's finally quieted down. Even lawyers must rest.

I only have to make chocolate chip cookies and pie for Friday. Everything else is done, other than vegetable prep, which takes minimal time with a food processor. WOOT!

Reminder: we're having our annual Orphans Thanksgiving on Friday. If you're around and looking for a place of good company and too much food, ping me @ qkilroy at earthlink dot net. The more is always the merrier. Just bring drinks. And ice. We always run out of ice.

I may make punch.

In the meantime, to everyone, near and far, a happy, happy Thanksgiving, even if you're not in the US and it's not your holiday.

I am thankful for all of you. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.

Okay, this time, NaNoWriMo has eaten my head, hence, no photos.

*sigh*

But it's at least a reason I can embrace. I've kept up on my wordcount and the novel is finally breaking open in serious ways that I've been waiting for, up to and including waking up with plot threads I had been missing. Thank you for Dreaming/Writing Brain!

* * *

barriequark has been kidnapped by the theater, which is not dissimilar to being kidnapped by gypsies and is having a *grand* time. I am a little jealous as theater is and always will be my first love. There's nothing like it. And if it paid a living wage while clawing the way up or if I'd been better supported, I never would have left it. It's one of the last places where the gods are worshipped in all their chaotic glory.

Because you cannot imagine the feeling when your entire cast and crew knock it out and the curtain falls and there is this *moment* where absolute silence rules. It's not the silence of boredom or lack of paying attention. It is literally the held in breath of nearly a thousand people all thinking together, "Oh, let it not be over..."

And then the applause hits you in an enormous wave with the same force as one from the ocean. It's a physical force, that wall of sound. And you peek out and they're standing on their feet.

That feeling doesn't go away.

To this day, I can remember the quiet weeping at the end of The Crucible, when we killed it. The enormous laughter and wall of standing ovation applause at the end of Guys & Dolls, because we were blessed enough to have Nathan Lane before anyone knew who he was.

Yes. I miss it.

Because until you've stood alone on an empty stage, staring out at that empty vast cave of a house, a single work light on behind you... The waiting darkness seeming to whisper, "Tell us a tale. Make us laugh. Make us cry. But whatever you do, don't be boring." I can't tell you what it's like. You have to have that moment in the waiting darkness for yourself.

And oh, when you do.

You will want it forever.

This morning, I asked barriequark how Tech had gone last night.

"Is it always that chaotic?"

"That's why it's called Hell Week."

"Then it went fine."

I could only nod and smile. Yes, it's always that chaotic. And wonderful. And glorious.

She loves it. I have to laugh to myself. How can you not? I know it's not for everyone, but if you have even a smidge of sawdust in your veins... Well, it'll always be my drug of choice.

Hail, Apollo! Hail Terpsichore and your sister Muses! Another disciple has come to worship at Your temple.

House lights, out. Standby, Curtain. Cue One, go.

Oopsie. Didn't edit last night. Was having far too much fun visiting with lunaticbubbles. Which is just fine. I've been wanting company for a while, and she was perfect. (You were! You were! Loved the visit!)

In short, this week has not been as lonely and I am grateful for it.

I managed to get some actual writing done yesterday, on top of the poems and feel almost human again. I don't know if I'm coming out of the drought or not, but I'll take it. Oh yes.

Still no painting, still no editing.

Didn't get any sleep last night though. Today, I'm beat. But still not sick! Yay!

And it's Friday and the Ant is making me cinnamon rolls. Life is good.