Misery . . .

—CB—

I have a cold and I’m miserable.

We’re in the first stage of our month-long tour, having made a hard cross-country drive, 2,800 miles in five days, and now much shorter hops, but I have a cold and I’m miserable.

Sunday, an excellent performance of SURVIVAL in a gallery in Waynesboro VA, lots of hearty laughter, but I have a cold and I’m miserable.

And last night, at The Venue on 35th, a sweet little space in Norfolk VA, we attended an open mike—a tightly-packed audience of 60+, all colors and genders and genres and ages and levels of talent—that sustained a wondrous energy of celebration, and we’ll do SURVIVAL there this evening, though I have a cold and I’m miserable. 

Outdoors it’s hot and muggy and one expects the dog to grow moss, but that doesn’t really bother me, as I already—you get the picture. 

Fortunately, in this show I don’t really do much except off-loading the props, doing a comic intro and running a few light cues: Elizabeth is the workhorse. In a couple of days, when we start doing our readings of GALAHAD’S FOOL, I’ll have to come alive and do my best not to fall into a bronchitic coughing fit midway. But I found in performing KING LEAR that the obligation of running a huge jolt of energy through the frame is highly therapeutic: the germs find themselves on the freeway at rush hour and split pretty fast. 

Meantime, I have my own personal authorization to sit around, bitch and moan, and avoid doing any serious writing, except for a blog about being miserable.