may 13

phone home

It's raining out.  I had nightmares about losing my phone, sleeping in the street, yelling at Chele and making her cry.  Chele leaving me alone to handle my own scheduling.  I wasn't doubting the love, because I know it is genuine and I know it always works, but I was clearly having an anxiety attack.  I always say whatever happens is perfect and although I do mean it, I think it's easier for me to feel that is true for everyone else but myself.  I mean on the one hand I am here to love my audience and that mission should make everything easy, easier than those who have traveled here to queer up north to do major productions where everything is coordinated, the light, the sound, 2 hour long scripts to be memorized or worse or more difficult, 2 hours of improvised madness that must hold tight . . . by contrast all I have to do is just show up and be me, but really the sense of validation that I know I would have if I performed a herculean focused and traditionally productive task would be a balm right now . . . just being me and feeling that that is enough, just feeling that it is all enough, weighs on me in equal measure to the flight I feel when I just know and can follow it.

I called steve this morning and I had to ask him three times how he was before I got an answer to my question "how are you?"  I am sure he thought he was answering me the first two times when he said, "lunar" & "stirred" & "being in my skin" but then finally I knocked again for the third time, cause I love him so & I did really want to know how he was, that he started to talk about the details of his day, stuff I'm sure he didn't think I was interested in, but of course I was & even though I was really listening, the details didn't really matter, what mattered is that I was able to contain some of it for him for that time, be the annex so to speak, and, how did I say it yesterday, it was effortless . . I should remember that, the effortlessness, because it is precisely this lack of effort that sometimes makes me feel that my work is not enough & that I can't compare it to other people & that makes me even a bit bored with myself.  Why do I feel like I have to work so hard?  It just kind of creeps up on me.  I'm trying to remember one of the last things steve said, what was it . . .The only difference between us & love is . . I can't remember.