Residual

Well, today I had the office to myself for half the day, and I got a lot of work done while playing with my boss' adorable dogs. They are Yorkies, and one is a brand new puppy; she weighs 1 lb. 3 oz. and likes to bite on fingers. After work I met JH, (whom I hadn't seen in far too long) and we had some alone time and it was great. It was great, except for teh moment when I found out from him that E is in the play I had the whole 'huge oversight' fiasco about.

For whatever reason that has thrown me into a deep melancholy and I can't figure it out. I certainly don't want to be in what I think will be a hellish 'showcase' production of Shakespeare acting scenes. Even if I did, E and I would not be considered for the same role. So, why am I suddenly despondent over this news?

Perhaps it's because every time I have to talk about E in public in a cordial manner I get mad: mad at myself that I feel anything. He deserves no stir of emotion of any kind in me. I feel regret that someone so small should get such a big reaction. That, coupled with my confusion over theater in general, makes me want a shot of the Wild Turkey in the kitchen.

I think I have to accept that there will always be a pang when I hear about theater things. It's strange, I have friends who I can listen to for hours when they talk about being lawyers, doctors, public relations experts, or whatever, and admire them, but I cannot do that with my peers in the theater. Perhaps it is because I wanted it once--the way I wanted E once, and though it's over, there is residue. Thick, sticky, midnight-blue colored residue from my needs and desire coats these topics. To come on them unprepared is like walking through a spider web, it takes time and effort to get it off.