Windows Open

What if I kept the windows open? What a terrifying venture, for someone like me. Some artists always have their windows open. Their windows are open all year, even. Like, it's winter, and probably time to nestle in, but there they sleep, snow falling onto their pillow. Or it's summer. Time to close up and run through the yellow fields! But, still, some will stay by the window. Anything could come through, they yearn.

I don't have faith, I've learned. I assume no one is coming and no one is listening and no one cares. I delight to be proven wrong and suffer shame when I've shut and locked too soon. Rather, on time. A friend arrives, after all, taps on the pane. It's too late though. It's never a punishment. It's my little log cabin. The only one I have. With my candles and nightgowns and quills and view of the frozen river. Everyone is invited, but not everyone can make it.

I was never good at sports / save the games for the girls on the tennis court

If You Left It Up to Me

The weirdest part is this was always how it was going to be. I had plots and plans for these past months in February, but now they seem like clouds. Not laughable, not sad. Translucent and cold. I am mad beyond words at what my government did and continues to do to its people, my neighbors. I am made and awake. I thought I was awake before. Then I woke up and dreamt of being awake. So for the people who are really and truly struggling and dying, I would wish for a time machine. I can't think of a worse way to go, alone, kissing loved ones goodbye over FaceTime. It breaks my heart.

But for me, I don't know how else to say, I am grateful it is happening. I am blessed to be more radical, to have been trapped in a corner of reading what is the universe literature, to have written the scariest play I've ever written and shed more relationships I don't need. Blessed by how many times I've swam this summer (even yesterday). Blessed to question how often I didn't eat at home. Blessed to be with Puhg a kajillion minutes a day. To have tried new things--like the swam boats at Echo Park and site-specific theatre on a hiking trail. To have been in forest cabin and a on the balcony of a beach inn.

I mourn our trip to Japan. I fear I'll never do the work I want to do again. Maybe my weekly theatre closed. History collapsed. It happened faster than I would have thought I could handle, but I did handle it, so that must mean something.

Weeks to lose my mind and weeks to sleep too much. Writing horror feature for no one and phone calls to anyone. There's this pervasive idea that we've lost all this time and experience, but I feel like I've experienced more in most days than ever before because it's just us in here--me and my soft squishy brain. Fewer distractions than ever, I haven't always been happy, but it does feel right.