There are no walls, just the bare frames where walls would be. It might be really really good.
... or it might be really really not.
j
On my own, with all of my falls.
10 years ago
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Saturday, April 9, 2011
Saturday morning, 9:42
It's Saturday morning. I'm sitting here watching CNN for headlines. I just finished eating a chocolate doughnut that I most certainly should not have even considered ...
Last night I saw THE LATE CHRISTOPHER BEAN at a theatre that had at one time been an automobile service station - intimate, but oddly enough it works. I finished writing the review (comments were positive, but not rave) at 2:55 this morning. I think fast, but I type slowly. I like to look at words on whatever passes for paper in a computer.
At 5 this afternoon I'll drive to a smallish church to direct the rehearsal for an original Easter opera (that may prove to be not terrible after all. I'm a firm believer in miracles, and always surprised when they happen.) By 7:30 I will have driven like a madman to the theatre where I'm directing a rehearsal for the play ZACK. (And no, I don't usually schedule two different rehearsals in the same day.)
But all that is later. Right now I'm fighting the dog for doughnut crumbs. (And I'm winning! He's faster than I am, but I'm bigger.) Nope. Sorry. His eyes just gazed over and he went to sleep. Great. My dog thinks I'm boring.
I'm over my cold. Sorta. More or less. In a way, I regret it. When I'm well, it's much harder to get people to peel the skin off of grapes for me. Oh well, I'm accustomed to certain hardships.
My best friend is selling most of her stuff and planning on moving into a tiny house. (Literally a tiny house - a home built on a truck bed.) I've thought about it. I've always wanted to run away and join a gypsy caravan, and live in a wagon ... with a fully functioning bathroom ... and another wagon following behind with my stuff. Maybe two wagons. Three at the most.
So. There you have it. If I quit now, I think i can squeeze in a nap before lunch.
I love Saturdays, don't you?
j
Last night I saw THE LATE CHRISTOPHER BEAN at a theatre that had at one time been an automobile service station - intimate, but oddly enough it works. I finished writing the review (comments were positive, but not rave) at 2:55 this morning. I think fast, but I type slowly. I like to look at words on whatever passes for paper in a computer.
At 5 this afternoon I'll drive to a smallish church to direct the rehearsal for an original Easter opera (that may prove to be not terrible after all. I'm a firm believer in miracles, and always surprised when they happen.) By 7:30 I will have driven like a madman to the theatre where I'm directing a rehearsal for the play ZACK. (And no, I don't usually schedule two different rehearsals in the same day.)
But all that is later. Right now I'm fighting the dog for doughnut crumbs. (And I'm winning! He's faster than I am, but I'm bigger.) Nope. Sorry. His eyes just gazed over and he went to sleep. Great. My dog thinks I'm boring.
I'm over my cold. Sorta. More or less. In a way, I regret it. When I'm well, it's much harder to get people to peel the skin off of grapes for me. Oh well, I'm accustomed to certain hardships.
My best friend is selling most of her stuff and planning on moving into a tiny house. (Literally a tiny house - a home built on a truck bed.) I've thought about it. I've always wanted to run away and join a gypsy caravan, and live in a wagon ... with a fully functioning bathroom ... and another wagon following behind with my stuff. Maybe two wagons. Three at the most.
So. There you have it. If I quit now, I think i can squeeze in a nap before lunch.
I love Saturdays, don't you?
j
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