Fortunately I do most everything out of love and very little out of duty. Or so it seems. You can tell by what my house looks like. So here’s what I did yesterday.
Woke up, wrote a blog, checked my email (briefly). Wrote 2,300 words. Went into the pool (couldn’t float because my sunburn on my legs is too nasty). Copied my pages from the script, went through and marked my lines and my cues. Went in the water again. Loaded the dishwasher. Fixed the printer. Went through more of family boxes and letters (a report my father did on how women spent their leisure time in the 1950s — he was a researcher for the Saturday Evening Post at that point). Plus photos and letters and wonderful pictures from Mini-me’s wedding, all of which was slow and either painful or not (the wedding pictures weren’t at all painful, even though happy memories often are). Did three hours of rehearsal/read-throughs. Came home, went swimming, had dinner (salad), went to bed. You know, it doesn’t sound that tiring when I write it down.
Our key phrase this summer is from Calvin and Hobbes — The days are just packed. Phantom (the cat) spends his days hunting. The stupid robin yesterday decided to hop away from him yesterday instead of fly, but fortunately a squirrel was caught in the netting that protects the blueberries and he got distracted. Then he found a mouse. (I’m writing on the front porch and I watch him stalking back and forth on the edge of the grass, or perched on a rock and watching.
Richie saved the mouse (I don’t know why) and praised Phantom and brought him inside. Let him out later, Phantom found the mouse again. Richie came out once more, this time the mouse was dead so he threw it in the grass. Yesterday morning we had a squirrel head on our deck (small enough so that I didn’t notice, thank God). Now Phantom is sleeping under the picnic table. The days, as I say, are just packed.
So, today I write another 2k plus words (which I’ve been doing I came back from Crusie’s, where I wrote 3k a day most days) and I’m still at a place where I love this damned book so much. I have no idea if the pacing is right or any of that shit — I’m just loving the story as it unfolds for me. Usually that means it’s a winner. On occasion it means a broken heart. But you pays your money and you takes your chance.
I really really need to get pool supplies and food, but Richie’s going to the town where the grocery store is so he can get necessities and I can go out tomorrow when I don’t have a rehearsal. The pool can wait one more day. It’s been in the upper 80’s every day so really wickedly hot, though poor Mini-me is stuck in Sacramento on jury duty so comparatively speaking I don’t even know what hot is. So I’ll write and I’ll swim (carefully, since the sunburn is still bad — it seems to have gotten through the wet towel I placed over my legs on Monday). I really need to go to the basement and sort through the fabric and stuff for costuming, but I keep putting that off. And today my rehearsal schedule is brutal — 4 to 7 for chorus (not so bad) but 8:30 to 11 pm for Acting as in Act, damn you. I go to bed at 8:30! Fortunately Billy Bigelow is darling, and so is Enoch Snow and Jigger Craven. In fact, Mrs. Mullin will make eyes at just about everybody (I’ll keep away from Zack, who’s about 17 and still a kid). Oh, and since it was just a read through I got to sing along with “Mr. Snow” – which I used to warble as I’d walk uptown in Princeton every Saturday. (People must have thought I was nuts). It was fabulous!
So. I’ll write. I’ll swim. I’ll empty that stupid box and maybe even get down to the basement for a little bit. By the way, Richie cut peonies for me and put them on the table beside my loveseat (thank you Crusie) and they smell divine. There’s a breeze (there’s almost always a breeze) and it blows the scent to me. You have no idea how exquisitely lovely it is here. It really is breathtaking, and even the heat is lovely with the breeze (it’s not a hot breeze yet — it’s probably still in the low or mid 70s right now).
And I will walk to the end of the driveway and back once a day. I need to call the orthopedist and be reassured that walking won’t make my knees worse. He saw the latest X-rays – he would know. And my BFF is coming back next week, so I’ll sew with her. Maybe I’ll see if I can do a little bit about the disaster of the living room. It’s depressing. But I gotta conserve energy for tonight.
When I can get my Cougar on.
I think part of it is (ahem) aging. We don’t realize we haven’t got the limitless energy we had when we were younger (at least mine was limitless) and we can’t pace ourselves properly and we get so frustrated that we collapse in exhaustion over what should be trifles. But it must be a universal problem because everyone wants more energy.
Aha, Phantom has joined me to walk across the keyboard, bless him Better get to work — I think there’s sex in the offing. (not for Phantom — we had him neutered a few weeks after he showed up at our doorstep. Not for me. Ah, but for Bishop and Evangeline … I love my job!)
(Oh, and there was nothing for make it Wednesday. Go out and take pictures of your gardens and put them in dropbox. That’s your task for the week).