Tuesday, June 28, 2016
June 28, 2016
The weekend was turbulent emotionally partially because I had done badly at the Thursday rehearsal and had a long time to mull that over. I didn’t know WHY I had done badly, actually. But, I listened intently to all the recordings, studied the music, followed Daniel’s repeated suggestion “slow down,” and last night I was not the weak spot, at all. Blessed relief. Had fun again, though at the end of the rehearsal my legs were so swollen I could hardly walk. Part of the reason I had done poorly–at least the speeding-up part– was that I couldn’t hear the keyboard. All the amplifiers and such were up last night, and I could. Also, what the band is playing bears no necessary resemblance to what’s written in the score. One adjusts. Had a handmic in my hand for the first time in my life. It felt pretty natural, actually. Maybe even a little empowering. I sound like rolling thunder to myself, but I suppose the sound booth has that under control.
Y is merry and lighthearted, which keeps my emotions from being more devastating than they need to be.
Did less well at our last-before-the festival Cantaria rehearsal than I would have wished. Studying to do there.
Blessed rain last night. Not enough for the month, but enough for the night.
Steaming ahead on the tiger play. Go to High Five, where they call me by name now, drink my coffee and write a scene.
Political catastrophe all around– Brexit (I haven’t looked at my portfolio in five days) and that Stalinist jackass Apodocca ramming a bill through NC legislature the ONLY purpose for which is trying to elect a Republican in Asheville. No gun control bill so many years after Columbine, but meddling with the will of the people can happen overnight. Evil alone has oil for every wheel, rolls without friction, and arrives on time. I hiss “I hate you” at the sky about every ten minutes, and the fact that this response is fully provoked does not make it pleasanter.
Turbulent rest of the day. Tomorrow, a little time for rest before Denver and, returning, production week.
I go on and on as though each moment were not being lived at the edge of a precipice.