Some Things We Always

It had rained for four days straight as it usually does in Michigan summer. As a camper I think I liked it. The things that annoyed me about camp--soccer, huffing down the beach stairs--came to a grinding halt. More time for counselors to throw their hands up and let us read during kayaking class. Extra time to snuggle into the cabins, flaps down. Sleeping was the best--we always had waves, now we also had storms. But now I was a head counselor and about to lose my entire mind. The first night was okay--sure, no luau, but there were some indoor games to be played. And then, what the heck, a movie night. And then the less fun games. And then we just didn't know. Every kid was bummed and lethargic. The tiniest ones were cooped. The staff was annoyed. In a desperate play, we announced we were just going to have to put on a show. The saddest last-minute talent show of all time? A little girl complained to me about her point values on her inspection sheet, I frantically tried to get a DVD player to work, an alum from my past showed up unexpectedly and started small talking with me and my coworker. I was extremely rude and left her probably feeling like an idiot for hiking up Messhall Hill in the rain. I remember crying as a friend of mine grumpily said she was not happy about how we were running things and vowing I would never have a job dependent on weather again.

But you can't actually just, like, get out of weather delays for life. I've been in tornados and storms and electricity blackouts and now a pandemic. We live in the natural world, no matter how hard we try to forget it.

45

Since he was elected I try to earnestly avoid watching him or hearing his voice. He makes my blood boil, and the anger is not good for me. But I've been seeing more clips lately, obviously, and it's helping me understand but of course making me irate.

If you were just listening to the cadence of voices he seems to be the only person making sense. The way people ask questions kindly or directly or aggressively and he has the terrible burden of shutting them down--at once the heavy crowned head and the tired victim. He rolls his eyes and repeats the same untrue, canned phrases. I beg we no longer allow him to speak. He has killed people with his Twitter medical advice. But if you are not smart or perhaps if you came from an abusive family where the most wretched person was to be idolized, he looks saintly.

I thought I would never hate him as much as I did on November 9th, and then the floor kept getting lower and lower, and I just can't believe I'm still on this elevator, breaking past the concrete in the basement.

Long Days Feel Short

This happened when I worked on the cruise ship too. The more time I had, the shorter days felt. You'd think the opposite. But it's like some defense mechanism kicks in that keeps me from overexerting fruitlessly. I started that contract with TONS of time, three writing blocks a day, zipping around. By the end, I was still productive, but it was typical to sit at breakfast for two hours with my roommate, to take two-hours walks, like that's normal. One episode of TV would last me four hours because there was the snack layout, the watching, the chatting afterward, the sort of sitting there.

It's midnight, and I nearly did my to-do list today, but not all of it. One item was to write this blog. In an entire day where I had one plan and am basically under house arrest, I didn't have a moment until midnight to write in my dumb blog? The day just slipped by. I don't even really watch TV. I guess I look at Twitter a lot since last week. I read. I have napped more days than not.

I think that's fine. I don't need to be my typical hyper-computer of production. For what? Finish this script for all the overwhelmed and work from homes execs to let it rot in their inbox? This play, I will produce it this year, but let's face it, not before July. If we're lucky. So I am at a strange peace.

I am concerned about people's health, I am concerned about the economy and my industry. I am concerned about riots/uprisings. I am naive to how troubled some areas of the country are. But I am not concerned about myself. I will continue to try to do my little part where I can, but I welcome this cocoon.

On Second Thought

Today at the MOCA I viewed this black and white photo of some art in nature. It was a piece in a room about temporary art--like the glass cube which requires shipment in a plain FedEx box every time it goes to a new museum or the little pile of Baci chocolates on the ground. Basically, some guy sculpted a big neat hallway in a random hillside. He told curators no, do not do any upkeep on the project. The point is to showcase how we are hurting nature. I looked at the photo for a while. Then I kept reading the plaque. In such a professional manner it continued, "After some time the artist changed his mind." Meaning this clown was at first willing to give up his work to the void of ego and environmentalism. And then he probably remembered his mortality and now a picture of his pristine little dirt show is hanging up in one of the fanciest museums in the country.