Sleepy Writers

Thought I had been doing pretty well keeping on top of my work and grading, but dutifully grading forty papers throughout the week still left me forty to finish when I got home yesterday. I drank a buttload of pumpkin latte and buzzed away into the night. At midnight I got the tumble grumbles and ordered takeout chips and queso. I didn't want the delivery guys to ring and wake up my roomsters, so I sat on our front porch typing manically "You need a clear topic sentence" and "Avoid the use of vague summary" onto my laptop.

It was a silent night, holy night. The dark reflection of palm trees on the pool, breeze. I stayed on my stoop until 3 AM snacking and reading and feedbacking. I took a photo because it occurred to me "Man, I'm young. It's the middle of the night and I'm eating nachos outside on a weekday."

It's been a pleasure and a treat to have the playwright of Drones with us in this first week of rehearsal. He's a great dude, and I'm learning so much about the production process from a writer's perspective. Tonight he wandered out of the theatre, and when I was released I opened the door to this very accomplished and talented guy slumped across the maroon-splashed mini sofa in the foyer of the building--legs wide open and propped on a footrest. 

"Are you sick of your play already?" I asked.

"I came out here to make a phone call," he said with half-closed eyes, "and then I couldn't get up."

Consequently, excuse me as I crash into my pillow.

(Edit: I fell asleep on this entry as I was posting it last night.)