strange few days, all told, but good, solid, functional – like a circle or a parallelogram or a simultaneous equation. had anti-birthday. refused to acknowledge, see friends, run thru motions of delight when in fact bile was fermenting at the root of my tongue. not that i succumbed to bad mood, black thoughts – knew enough to navigate away from such treacherous shallows.
submerged. four days almost entirely alone, cultivating fruits of blessed introversion, obsessive behavioural patterns focused on one point like sunlight burning pinprick flame thru paper. four days in bedroom, redrafting lacklove - idea being that if theatre get back to me and want to actually do something with play, all other projects will be stashed below decks and it might be six months before i can sit down with this thing again – by which time this initial momentum would be long gone. grew a temporary beard as signifier of temporary authenticity.
on saturday, i’d set myself the goal of not seeing a single human being all day – wordy and le rave having both deserted for the weekend. was even staying away from windows. and i was beginning to feel a bit post-apocalyptic, a beckett monologue, an internal adventure. but then le rave rematerialised and i had to abort the project. he went out again, later, having exchanged one half-sentence in the intervening hours, but still, it was no good, ruined.
finished second draft – or in-betweeny makeshift v1.5 if i’m honest - that night, in a blurred euphoria of red wine and chocolate. sunday spent looking at it and feeling productive. monday, shaved beard, back to dayjob and back to war with the frayed beginnings and ends of my days. deadlines loom and duties accumulate.