…at long last I can speak the language once again. I understand.
But back to the world of ideas—that Geminian bastion of genius. What if we had an open house and everything in every room was for sale, because we will have made displays and even #’d the items and it would be something like by appointment meets an open house. We would give a bag to each visitor and put their name on it and let them go to town shopping. And we would advertise it on my festival thrift shop page and we would make some kind of fun Afterglow event about it. And we can do it next September. Just an idea for clearing out everything non-essential to my life. “When things aren’t adding up, substract.”
This was just one of the many ideas discussed yesterday on an incredible beach stroll, from Newcomb Hollow to Cahoon Hollow before the rains came. I am full up with plans and yet I see my primary job as being able to just shut up and work instead of being torn in so many directions.
But the truth is I have a festival in less than a week that I’m producing, promoting and for which I’m fundraising. Then the series at Harvard starts with John Kelly the following week. Then Stella performs her show in New York first week October before we go to Europe, business plan in hand; returning for another show at Harvard then planning NYC rehearsals for our Starsky + Cox holiday show at Joe’s Pub.
Meanwhile we will have discussed the book proposal I wrote with a new agent. I will have written all my year-ahead horoscope books for release in November. I will written a feature for Glamour (if all goes well) serviced our many clients, written that new holiday show and have shopped around that business plan in London, Paris, New York, Boston and beyond.
And I write a Blague everyday.
Now, with that enormity often comes daily dearth brought on by said enormity: I also have to wash, eat, clean, cook, shop, eat, run errands, return emails and attempt to exercise. Funny how other people have time for yoga, massage, oil pulling, pedicures, facials, hair appointments and so forth. No wonder I’m still wearing the same clothes I wore ten years ago. I don’t have time to cultivate a wardrobe. I do, but you know what I mean. Anyway sometimes I have to do all of the above, and even if I don’t, I might just stare at an empty page on this screen.
Today was one of those days where everything seemed scrambled and nobody seemed to be speaking the same language. My many texts and emails were all miscommunication and confusion. It seems that we are culturally holding our breath and none of us are perhaps making the moves we might otherwise make. There’s little release, no great delieveries. It’s like our collective social atmosphere is constipated.
There is a certain pointlessness, perhaps. Because you think, no matter what you do, you’re going to remember there’s an orange dolt in the White House whose latest antic is to act something like a democrat, while still doing diabolical things like trying to dismantle DACA. So why bother, right? It’s all a bit waah-waah as you’re washing up before bed, some with their glasses off, Rachel Maddow a blackish blur on TV in the next room. And it’s September and very Virgo-y. Gooey. Sticky. Like toffee or taffy, Virgo (mutable-earth) is malleable but just barely.
Typos happen—I don’t have time or an intern to edit.*
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