A long day. A pain in the ass. Nearly literally (S-I joint).
Sitting all day: 4 hour in the White Fragility workshop. Lots of important things to say about white fragility. Here is one: Being good or being bad is not relevant. What is relevant is for white people to take uncomfortable action, which may include listening to shit they don’t want to hear, or simply listening. Not setting the agenda any more. The agenda doesn’t belong only to white people.
On my way to more sitting, walked uphill 20 blocks. Good idea. Must do more.
On my way to dinner, ran into J & P. Beer & dinner. Derailing. Dragonstooth Stout. Remember how I was going to stay sober whilst I wrote 90 blog posts? Comment below if you can guess why.
Now in lobby waiting for “Live! From the Last Night of My Life” to start. I recognize half a dozen people in the lobby, know 4 personally well enough to strike up a conversation, know one well enough to ambush him and remind him how we know each other. But I did that once before and it would be redundant.
I love and hate the same thing about going to the theater: I know so many people in the audience. What that means is a) I make a lot of contacts, something I never would have imagined myself doing before I started doing theater, and b) the circularity and insularity of theater audiences in Seattle is a bit depressing, and motivates me to work on the mystery of how to get more non-theater people into the audience.
There’s L, and D. L had a lovely conversation with my husband at the birthday party of M, where he did not want to be because he doesn’t want to be at birthday parties of people he doesn’t know. Someone in the workshop today was talking about her — and wow, there he is, also at the show.
There’s B, who knows my son, who is on his way. D does too, and I’m going to leave them to each other on the theory that we each must have our own guys.
Home again, home again. Must post before midnight. I feel I must preemptively apologize to O for writing so shallowly, but you know what? He is not my boss, nor is he my audience, and he might not even be my ideal reader. There is a lack of thought and depth and exploration to what I’m writing today, but not because there is to what I’m thinking, just because I’m tired now and it’s late.
Doing a thing because I said I’d do it means reliability, not flakiness. Some people use “flaky” to mean weird, but to me it means undependable, and if there’s one thing my mother hates, it’s flakiness, so you won’t catch me with delicate layers melting on my tongue, one by one. Not unless they’re snowflakes.
Today was one of those days, full and rich and satisfying. And ending up with a headache because I don’t know why for certain but possibly having something to do with putting the wrong things in my mouth and doing the wrong this with my body.
Now to sleep, rinse, and repeat. I apologize — just this once. Next time, nothing to apologize for.