It's hard; let's choose.
Someone, two people actually, who don't (I don't think) know each other, or even really know me well enough to know how much it'd mean to me, mentioned the idea that I might be sad now that this show is over. It had not occurred to me that I might get sad, and I'm a little irked that they're right!
Of course, I want to say how really grateful I am. How totally, absolutely flabbergasted I am by the response I got. I asked so many people to come, and most of them did. My dear friends. Friends who are not so dear. Even total strangers. Some people came because they were curious, or they got dragged by other people.
Only one person, on Sunday night, sat in the front row and texted. But you're entitled to do that, I suppose, if you're bored. That person sucks and is sad inside. I felt bad for him. I wonder if he could tell how much I pitied him.
I'm trying to stay Positive! and grateful for the 100 or so people who came to see the work and seemed to get it. I wish, of course, that people who book performance had come. But you can't win them all. I can't. I'm proud of my work, and I'm proud of myself for doing it.
It was also a tremendously painful process, so I'm really glad it's over. I want to do it again! And bigger! I feel so weird. Like I bared my soul.
I feel like that time we had a psychedelic trip, and I let out my absolute worst qualities in front of my friends. And most of them are still my friends. It's not so bad.
This morning on the train I was stuck underground momentarily. I think I have only myself to blame. I flipped a coin about this before I left the house this morning. The coin said Heads, take the M. But it seemed hesitant, so I asked the Internet and the computer said to take the L, it's faster. But not now, slow and sick, full of toxic passengers. It clots, underground. We're in here listening to fuzzy bass headphones, sipping foamed milk and coughing, sniffling from our pollen allergies. We're down here just waiting for summer. Boiling. Impatient.
I wish I knew the I Ching. How to throw it. At my last job, my coworker (whom I would later come to like very much) threw it for me on my first or second day. I got something about being self-sabotaging, overgenerous and vulnerable. My coworker said "Hmm... I don't know if this is so true, for you." I was insulted, but must admit she had a point. I ended up, though, staying at that job much longer than I should have, becoming totally miserable and kind of fulfilling that I Ching reading. I also once got a tarot reading that basically predicted the catastrophic dental fuck-up I had at the dental school. What other signs have I been given? Maybe I missed something along the way. It definitely feels like that.
My horoscope this week says that I should stop kidding myself. Admit, it says, admit how much I hate myself. Let it out. As if we need the little push. Encourager. Exhortations from the west coast. I don't know this psychic astrologer but I know people who do. I know people who pay her hundreds of dollars just to talk on the phone. So I'm glad to get it for free, even if it's unpleasant, bad news.
TWO GREAT IDEAS:
1) Spend time with someone who loves you. Not a friend. Don't spend the night. Just be around someone who might be in love with you. You know, in that book, movie, TV show, the aging actress? Her one true friend is her hairdresser and they've known each other for years. He adores her and she utterly depends on him. It's pathetic. But no, it's not pathetic. He's the only one who she reveals her true self to. He alone sees that she is, deep down, a lovable person. That's another way of seeing it, I guess. I don't like that, the dissonance, holding both in my head. It's hard; let's choose.
2) Write. Thank you notes, fan letters, anonymous suggestions. For the box.
All I ever wanted was to be invited, included. To be a name on the List. And then, thinking so hard, for so long, so singularly about something, and then you get it. Sometimes you get the thing you want. And it's absolutely as great as you thought it would be. I wish I could get into what makes me feel so special, but I can't for a bunch of exciting reasons. Actually, it's not exciting to anyone but me, so I will keep it to myself. I'm just saying, when you measure what it would take to make you happy, and then you meet that benchmark, it does (yes really) mean that you have to find some new way of looking to get your kicks. I'm getting ahead of myself.
I'm glad I'm me today:
That song always strikes me as a bit more than slightly ironic. Gina Birch refers to her humor as "tragicomic", that seems right. A couple of people asked me if ENCOURAGER is a joke or not. Or people said, with a sly wink, that they could tell which parts I meant and which parts were jokes. That the sincerity was a secret code. I'm actually being totally 100% serious in ENCOURAGER but I do think that you can be serious and joking at the same time. L'air du cochon, natch.
So last night Steven took me to go see Here Lies Love, the musical about Imelda Marcos written by David Byrne and Fatboy Slim. It was amazing. Anna Wintour was in the crowd, along with noted B0DYH1GH fan Hamish smoke a Bowles. I also ran into my dear former office buddies, and saw Daddy Byrne bopping around the audience himself. It was a totally fantastic show. I was so obsessed with the chorus girls. These girls, I assumed they must be younger than I am. I guessed 22. These girls who can sing wonderfully, and dance and act, and they're in this brand new funky downtown musical rock opera immersive theater experience. Handily borrowing the cultural cache of Occupy Wall Street, the bad drag of The Iron Lady, long-simmering and much beloved American homegrown xenophobia, and duh, the superstar songwriters. I thought how great life must seem, as a chorus girl in a fantastic show downtown. Getting to sing these cute songs, in this great show, getting watched by the Vogue editors. They must seem on top of the world. It made me happy.
Yesterday was an exceedingly difficult day but it ended well. Much better than I thought it could.