It’s Mother’s Day, 6:27 pm. I have just gone back and forth – do I blog or watch a stupid movie? I blog. The week has been overwhelming – it occurs to me it has been like a play that only I would write: big fun, belly laughs, boundary crossing, deep unbearable sadness and music – all of it coming at too quick of intervals to process it properly.
Last night Mac told me there would be no Mother’s Day this year. He can’t handle my reaction and keep it together to do what he needs to do. I am so proud to have raised a son that can tell me that. We stayed up until 1am talking about all the things that hurt and haunt him. Oddly enough, that was present enough for me. He is the most beautiful tender soul. When I listened to one of the songs I wrote for him today I had to leave the theater so as not to distract the cast with my crying. I love him so much it hurts.
I watched our show one last time and they knocked it out of the park. I was proud of all of us and more than a little sad that I won’t be doing this anymore. I’m really good at it. At the end of the show the kids brought me up for thanks and gave me gifts – not unusual for a play but under the circumstances very huge for me. Lots of tears – mine and my students – some of us sobbing in each others’ arms. I was moved beyond words. They gave me a spa gift certificate ( yay!!) a framed, signed poster of the show and a little book of inscriptions. The inscriptions were beautiful, heartfelt and profound and the comments on the frame were vile and unrepeatable. That is why I adore them. They are an alarming mishmash of angel and devil, irreverent, sacrilegious and holy.
Well, I’ve run out of things to say – probably stupid movie was a better plan.
So this week – final improv class, lithium baseline appointment and the year end Drama Banquet. Then it’s on to Vancouver and my inevitable collapse once I get to my Dad’s place.
What a lovely ride.
Sunday, May 11, 2008
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Thank you for blogging - I think I received transmission, just like from a Buddhist monk.
I feel every high and low that you write about, the eros, the tension, tug and pull of your creative, ever evolving self. That pull is what we are all so goddamn fortunate to experience every day in this life. Who could ask for more? Every sentence you write wakes us up, and keeps pushing us to the leading edge.
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