Wednesday, March 07, 2007
I've been sort of freaking out lately. The normal stuff--what am I doing with my life?, how long can I stand being an administrative assistant?, should I continue to live in New York? etc. But also the fatigue is setting in. I've been working so hard--writing like it's going out of style (which it may be)--but also working so hard on getting my stuff out there, getting it read by strangers. I'm just really tired right now. Tired of all the work it takes to be a playwright. Tired of not seeing anything resembling a way to playwright for a living. And the other voice in my head is saying, "Really?" "Did you really think there was a way to make a living doing what you love?"
All this makes me want to quit, bow out, stop running the race. I'm in the middle of writing a new play. Literally at the intermission and I know I will finish it. Because that's what I do. And behind it I can visualize all the other plays I'm hoping to write in varying stages of clarity. And there is a novel there too, supposedly. And supposedly I'm going to go back to that novel after this play is written. Even though I hear other plays calling.
Even though I am so so tired. Of running on this track. And yet this track is also the only thing that keeps me sane some days. Try to talk to me sometime after I've gone a week without writing. It will not be a pleasant experience for you. You see, I need it to keep me sane but it’s also slowly driving me mad. So I'm not so sure what to do about that. And I keep beating my head against the wall and chips of the wall tumble down but this wall....how thick is this wall? Two feet? Three feet thick? And I need a fucking hammer, OK. My head is found to be insufficient.
But really I just want to stop, move to the country, somewhere where there are trees and I won’t be able to see plays every night. Because it’s not good for me anymore to see the amount of theatre I see. Theatre has taken my life away and I’m not fighting hard enough to get it back. But I love it too. I love the theatre and can’t understand why everyone else doesn’t love it too.
But this life isn’t working right now. I got to take a break. I got to . . . I got to finish this play. Dude, I am fucked.