The rains made it good we were no longer planning to see Shakespeare in the park. I worked more hours than I meant to, yesterday and today, but I got tons done, won brownie points and will make some extra bucks. This may be the first time I saw the same movie three times in a theatre, but how cool to begin seeing the subtleties of design and performance. We probably made a bad impression at the diner, but then again the cute manager still discussed the Yankees with me as we made our way out. There was much laughter.

I guess I shouldn’t assume it’s easy for you, though it seems so. I realize, from any perspective but mine, it probably looks like it’s easy for me too. I smile sweetly and discuss the show with you, like we’ve never been anything but friends and colleagues. No-one looking at me can tell we’ve spent nights passionately entwined, whispering words of endearment as we climbed to heights of passion, breath, saliva and sweat commingling, pushing harder, faster. We don’t do that anymore, and it’s hard to see you, even more hard that it seems easy for you to see me.

I could totally have lived during the Renaissance. I could have worn tight bodices and flowing skirts with ribbons braided into my hair. I could have tucked one of those tiny daggers with sharp triangular points into abundantly displayed cleavage, making myself deadly and beautiful. I could have learned to wield a sword and shield, danced and sang and called people m’lord and m’lady. I could have spent tons more money at the Renaissance Faire today, I wanted that $250 dagger and $150 green dress. I settled for the dragon and the fairy earrings. Oh yeah, and a huge pickle.

How is it already almost midnight when I felt so awful earlier today and promised myself I would not work too late and would get home and to bed as quickly as possible? Well, I started to feel better so I did work later than I meant to and went to the grocery store, which was a necessity and found the stuff I need for my grant committee meeting tonight instead of waiting for the last possible second. So here I am and I’ll probably have trouble getting up again tomorrow. At least the baby seems to be napping again.

It seems I’m holding on to some quite unfocused anger. I’ve been successful since my epiphany in keeping up some level of optimism about love, while not allowing it to occupy a huge space in my conscious mind. I’m still greatly frustrated that this thing eludes me thus far. Of course, as my frustration grows and increases, other things become harder as well. I wonder, for instance if I’m the only one hiding my inner turmoil. I’ve also examined some of the surreal experiences I’ve had when I seemed to disconnect from myself completely. Where is the potential for passion?

What have I gotten myself into? Why do I need to continuously take on more responsibility? I make myself available to teach more classes and along with the rehearsal schedule for a show I’m merely in the ensemble of, the Fall might kill me. I can hopefully still work enough hours not to fall behind, I never sleep, so why don’t I join a board and write a grant? Just to make it fun, let it be a seemingly established organization, which nonetheless has no financial records, or any real records. Of course, I already feel a sense of responsibility.

You have generated so many Oscar-winning performances from me, it’s ridiculous. Tonight I played the sane, rational, adult professional at a board meeting. She looked really hot and contributed to the process. She was able to smile and joke with you and discuss business with you as if you were nothing to her. I know I deserved an award, because even I believed the performance, it was only in the car on the way home that I wanted to cry, wondering how I mean so little to you that you can do this so easily. It makes me feel insignificant.

What a night at Yankee stadium. We always beat the Mariners when I’m there live, in NY or Seattle, it doesn’t matter. Ah, to be a part of a crowd, all cheering madly for the same thing, what fun! I had to correct the father giving his son erroneous information, making him believe he was wrong, the kid was right and I wanted him to know. Then to be treated like queens at the bar; it’s gratifying to know that they miss us and that they will bend over backwards to make us feel welcome when we make an appearance.

How I love my city! I’ve always fed off the energy that only this city emanates. I rode the subway and did touristy things I’ve never done before, all the while explaining to my West Coast friends how we’re fundamentally different as people. It’s been a mission to explain why we behave the way we do, to dispel some of the anger towards our seeming rudeness and abruptness. Things move so quickly, it’s so much louder and more crowded, we really have no choice. I should have watched movies after dinner though. Why the constant need for socialization I wonder?

I was watching and yet we blew it. After a very strange movie, my team let me down. The Brazilian restaurant was not quite the experience we anticipated, but the company seemed pleasant for all, and the food was good enough and a pretty good deal. My better place seems intact, news of a romantic proposal and vacation only made me happy for the couple involved, I felt no envy or sadness that it hasn’t happened to me. I enjoyed being asked to stay, and I’m proud that I left anyway, not nearly soon enough though, very late to bed.

My emotions tend to run high after working more than fourteen hours. I was far more emotional over the eighth inning collapse heard over the radio than it warrants. I sensed myself rooting around in my mind for the excuse for the tears stinging the backs of my eyes, yet I was grasping at straws. I’m merely tired, and I guess hormonal. As my childbearing years slip by, it seems there are no safe weeks, or even days. With everything so irregular, it’s impossible to accurately calculate where I am, but even a few days after, there’s no respite. Sigh.

We’re so incredibly business-like, aren’t we? We send short, concise emails about commitments to obtain information and you could surely believe we’ve hardly met. I’ve worked so much and so hard these past two days, I can’t muster up any sadness over it. It’s after eleven at night and I’ve hardly settled in, much less got anything done for my classes or the theatre company I recently joined the board of. It was a tough day today, from the poopy accident this morning up until this moment. I think I’ll send the mail and emails and call it a night.

I remember a friend once telling me: “I’ll have plenty of time to sleep when I die.” I found it somewhat profound and I’ve lived my life that way ever since. Or rather, consciously since, I was doing it before. I have to occasionally get a bunch of sleep. Despite what “they” say, for me it is possible to either catch up on sleep, or store it for later. This obsessive need of late to do nothing for hours while not sleeping is a bit annoying. I can go long stretches without, but why should I when it’s not necessary?

We’ve become so dependent upon modern conveniences, it’s ridiculous what a baby I become when suddenly I can’t work on the computer and I have no fans running in the house. I wonder how people in places without our technology actually live, or in fact how anyone lived a hundred years ago. More than anything, I was just too hot. Ninety degrees seems about my limit. There were also the fears of what this widespread blackout might mean. I tried being reassured by the mayor’s promises that it wasn’t related to any terrorist activity, but what if he was lying?

Fears slowly dying, life returns to normal, but the mental craziness leads to exhaustion and a reduction of will power. Pizza cravings, coming with increasing regularity, must be satisfied. We don’t go to the sports bar, watching the game at home instead. This leaves time to do both toe and fingernails and extra time with make-up. So at the bar, I drink more than I have been, although not a ridiculous amount by any means. A new epiphany about how I deal with men--I don’t have to make them like me, especially when they’re being a little rude anyway.

I’m on a precipice between living my life how I want, or simply keeping far too busy to ever realize I’m miserable. We know the frenzy of activity for the summer has to end once classes and rehearsals take over a large amount of time. Even now, it seems I never have enough time to think. September and October are likely to involve very little sleep as I work, teach, rehearse, raise funds for PMT and attempt a small amount of socialization. It will have to be very small, I think. Victory in a crazy game caps the day nicely.

I’m trying to be productive. This is a break while I try to get the renegade washing machine back on track before I go to the grocery store. My room is clean, miraculous in itself, especially since I allowed two long distance phone calls to delay the start of my productivity. It’s much later than I wanted to start other stuff already, but I should get some CGPAC and some PMT done today as I promised myself I would. Did I really expect I would go to bed any sooner than one am anyway? A jump is all I need.

I always found the expression about forgetting your head if it weren’t attached to your body somewhat disturbing. I’ve reached a point in my life when I realize that even before it was true, I must have sensed a real kinship with that sentiment. I make jokes now about what an airhead I am, but it really isn’t funny. It has reached scary proportions, in my opinion. I don’t seem to forget anything really critical, which is, I guess, why I can joke. It certainly gets annoying after awhile. I’d imagine even more so to others. So the procrastination continues.

When I lived in Seattle, different things were important. While I always maintained my own identity as a New Yorker (just ask anyone!) it’s clear to me now that I couldn’t help but absorb what was around me. The stuff that “everybody knows” is all different stuff--politics, attitudes, clothes, music, all different. I feel myself returning to being more New York all the time, but as much as I maintained how different I was from all these laid-back, non-confrontational, overly friendly, way-too-complacent people I lived around the whole time, now everyone here sees me as being all those things.

I think I first began to experience fuzzy brain disease sometime during 1997. I can’t remember for sure if I ever had it before my second nervous breakdown, but I know I was definitely getting it shortly after. Everyone laughs when I first mention it, but that’s exactly what it is. It feels like someone took loose cotton and stuffed it in all those little cracks in my brain. I hadn’t been getting it, but lately I’ve noticed early signs. It doesn’t seem as debilitating as it used to back then, but I’m pretty sure it started gradually then too.

Fuzzy brain disease makes it hard to concentrate, I’m crabbier and harder to deal with when I have it. So I am a little stressed out, but it should not be like then, when I felt the whole program rested on my shoulders and I was releasing thirty years of pent-up anger. Hopefully I won’t turn into that person again, just because my schedule for the next four months is so full I might never sleep again and I’ll be lucky to barely cover my bills. I’ve learned that yelling gives people permission to ignore you, even when you’re right.

When will this never-ending project be over? Thank God we took the time to map out our strategy, or this could have taken forever. I almost let this slide after there was no input from the boss, but I think it’s good that I brought it up so at least it will be done for the meeting. But it certainly kept the pressure on all during what has already been a very long week. But progress has certainly been made on many fronts, especially the teaching one. Claudia and I had an incredibly productive meeting today. No sleep ‘til Brooklyn!

The day started pleasantly enough, brunch, manicure, new hair color and cut. If you’ve never had a fuel pump die on the highway, you really haven’t lived. It’s especially exciting on that one lane section of the FDR just past the Brooklyn Bridge where northbound traffic meets that coming off the bridge. The fun continues, you wait two hours for the tow truck, whose dispatcher assured your mechanic he would take you there, but then he tells you he can only take you off the highway, so you have to wait for him to get there. But wait there’s more…

My trip to my show in Connecticut ended up being seven hours all together, after two traffic jams on the way. Most people would have given up by then if not right away. My mother didn’t have to bring me her car. But I pushed on as they kept telling me to come they were improving away. My anger at finding them halfway through, which they must have started five minutes after the last phone call, was indescribable. The selfish attitude was way worse. I had spent so much time being scared and hot and frustrated and upset, for this?

So much running around bringing cars to rightful owners, borrowing the next certainly stole a chunk of the day I intended to dedicate completely to PMT. Yet, I accomplished a ton, bringing together various bits of information and formulating a plan. I wish I had done more typing but the time spent on the phone was valuable and I had no choice but to do those other things. I feel they care now, too. I hope the fuel pump is covered by my extended warranty and the car gets fixed today. I’ll know soon. The Yankees had better win tonight.

When will the stress end? How many hours can I squeeze out of myself productively in one twenty-four hour day? I’m not sure how I always end up scheduled to within an inch of my life, but I only occasionally, in many years, have allowed holes to remain for any length of time. I guess I’m better off when I don’t have too much time to think. But soon, lack of sleep is going to start catching up to me. Even though there has been dissention and people making me nuts, there’s been a lot of support, which really helps.

I am completely gone, physically, mentally, especially emotionally. I knew decisions by committee would make me crazy. An hour to discuss a simple concept that I felt was a done deal does not make me feel positive. As usual I care too much and can’t stand not automatically doing what I think is best. I maintain my professionalism throughout the meeting, not through gargantuan effort, that’s where my head is. But afterwards, it’s hard again, especially when we talk outside. I want to ask you to have a drink, but I can’t. So I break down when you leave instead.

It was an experience everyone should have. Being an American at the U.S. Open Tennis Tournament in the best city in the world would be enough. Watching two of my favorite American tennis players win their matches fairly easily but with some excitement from the young opponents who fought til the end, even though neither one could take a set. We actually found ourselves routing for Vinciguerra in the hard-fought third set, mainly in order to see more tennis. But Agassi was not interested in a fourth set, which was fine. My mother felt it was the perfect birthday present.

You really are my sunshine. Through all the disappointments this week, every day my heart is full, watching you grow. All the pain in the world leaves when you smile. My favorite moments are when you curl up in my lap, safely wrapped in my arms to drink your bottle and play with my hair. I hardly want to move to your crib once you’re asleep, wanting to enjoy how it feels when you sleep against me, trusting completely in my love for you and my desire to keep you safe and happy, which I will do all my life.

Cancelled plans leave time to accomplish much. Generous sister gives of time at her office to use resources, getting flyers designed and printed and a press release list saved. Envelopes are prepared, but we couldn’t print labels, I’ll address by hand, the list can be used in the future and easily done with advanced preparation. I honestly didn’t know when I would get that done, so it’s all good. I’m sorry for the missed birthday, but I think she understands. Chicago brings flashbacks, saw it with him the “night of lingerie” and the next day Nan died…still a good movie.

We were brutally honest, so I allowed my physical desires to be fulfilled (finally!) breaking vows to hold out for something better. I don’t fall for the sad little boy act, but he is an attractive fireman who has a brain and some sensitivity. I’m so ready, I overwhelm him with my passion. I’m a bit surprised myself, but it’s been over six months and since others seem to be seeking a way back in, it was important to release that tension. Mouths, tongues, lips, probing fingers, hard nipples, thrusting bodies grinding. I said he’s the nicest jerk I know.