Here Comes the Sun

Come on, do it with me... in good stuff [deep breath]... out shit [exhale]... in good... out shit...

So many things have I learned from this last show. First off, if you want a deck, go to Sultry Sue and ask her and her husband... let's call him Q because he can build ANYTHING... to help you. Seriously, it was wicked excellent. I guess, rather than writing this out in paragraph form, I shall make a list. And compliment it with photos from the production.

So where were we? Oh yeah... how's your dog? (The correct response to "how's your dog?" is "Good, how's your dog?"). Now onto the list...

1) A lot of waves all bunched up is called a roost.
2) Liebfraumilch means "jumping woman milk" (okay, I already knew that)
3) Nantucket is farther East than Martha's Vineyard.
4) Cygnus (the Swan), in late summer, rests in the Northern sky at the 47th latitude.
5) There is a cereal called Gorilla Munch. It's organic.
6) Wavepad is both wonderful and cruel. Overall, designing sound... completely rocks.
7) Keaton knows how to put together a soundtrack. He may want to take it up professionally.
8) There are 18-year-olds in this world who have never had Twinkies or Funyuns. Oh the humanity.
9) Kevin is a distinctive appellation for a woman.
10) With the right lights, set, beautiful music, and two very talented actresses, you can reduce an audience to tears in less than a minute.

Sunday night was very bittersweet. I liken it to the feeling of school ending (and I mean college—you know, when it actually hurt to see it wrap). The show really took on a family atmosphere and I am certain that reunions will follow. But yeah, family. What I loved the most was how quickly and warmly I was welcomed into the group. I knew some of the cast and crew going in, but I joined the production officially much later than most, during a not-so-smooth point in my life. Kind of a mid-course correctional burn. I came in to take on sound and assist in any way I could and in return, the things got... well, smoother.

But not everything I'd been going though dissipated. A fog still lingered. And lately it has come to my attention that I haven't written much. Not this year. Not since May. Not much at all. And while that fact does ruffle my feathers a skosh, don't misconstrue... I must say straight away that it wasn't being a part of experiences like "Gillian" that have hindered my pen from hitting paper.

I just couldn't see. Thick fog. Like fallen clouds... too heavy to hold themselves up and too tired to rain. They just fall.

But that's all changing. Realized that for all the planning I do, I never plan for myself. I'm a man of the people. But it wouldn't hurt, I think, to be my own man for a while.

In fact, I have a couple days coming up at the end of this week where I'm heading out of town to a place where the trees still outnumber people. Where the Internet and cell phones do not exist. A hidden treasure of a place, buried within a forest like a living fairytale—complete with a castle. Not even kidding. This weekend I shall find my voice again on the page. Return to a story that I've neglected for far too long. And I will write.

That simple statement... and I will write... you have no idea how fantastic that feels rolling over my lips. Or pouring onto the keyboard. Or dancing through my synapses. Life has been slamming along at this frenetic pace and it seems that every time I've sat down to write in the past six months, something else pushes in screaming for attention. And like a fool, I've given all of it my all.

But now... for just a few days, I'm going to take a break. To relax. To read "Harry Potter" (I'm on chapter five of "Deathly Hallows"). To take walks in the woods. To stare at the stars. To enjoy the sound of silence. THREE DAYS. Such a blip of nothing on the cosmic scale... but oh, so much to someone who lives at the pace I live. Ahhh.... serenity. To find calm. To reconnect with my creativity. And most importantly, to write. I'm going to be alone, living like a Gypsy for a while, and words will be written. Characters will be fleshed out. Storylines will arc to completion. Seriously... I'm practically frothing at the mouth for this "break". It's like Christmas, wrapped in my birthday, dipped in chocolate. Or sex. Dipped in chocolate-covered sex. It's that good.

Do me a favor... think of the one thing in this world that fuels you—it can be anything that takes your soul and makes it dance in the air—and do it this weekend. Just do something that makes it all worth it. Lately, every person I've talked to is stressed, tired, burned out, or when asked "How's your dog?" (or even a traditional "How've you been?") responds with "BUSY". Busy. We're all busy. It's like 2007 has been chasing us all down, throwing life at us... throwing work upon us... asking us to carry it all on our tired, bruised, and crumbling shoulders.

Not today, Trevelyan.

The waves are singing tonight... well, I'm sure they are somewhere, where they have waves nearby... and it's actually daytime... okay, so sometimes I can't incorporate all of my favorite show quotes into a post. It happens. Point is, I'm feeling this surge of energy and I don't want to squander it. Those pesky metaphorical clouds that have clung to me over these past couple months seem to be breaking—the brilliant warmth of the sun kisses me on the head. It feels good. Feels like I'm getting my muse back. Though, ironically, I'm not sure where she's coming from—but there's a muse around. Most definitely.

Maybe it's the sweet idea of vacation. Maybe it's seeing Apollo run free throughout the house. Or the freedom that comes from living life with your eyes open. Or it's a fast-approaching deadline. Or could it be that I'm coming off the high of a fantastic theatrical production that sits in the upper echelon of my theatre experiences? 'Cos that'll inspire you.

Or I just don't know and maybe I never will. Does it matter? Perhaps it's not always good to know why a muse has entered your life... better to just acknowledge that she's there. And thank her. And then get to work.