Short Post Before Coffee

Last night I did not have rehearsal.  I fell asleep on the couch then went to bed embarrassingly early.  I will not give a time.  In the interests of accuracy, I did not sleep particularly well once I was actually in bed, but I slept on and off and was quite grateful to do so.  I have never dealt well with limited sleep, even in my young(er) and (more) foolish days.

In any case, I am up prior to 5 a.m., waiting for the coffee maker to drip. Yesterday I took a cup too early and it was bitter.  I require caffeine.  We shall see if I am able to make a blog post without it.

My alarm pulled me out of a very annoying dream.  I was not enjoying the dream at all, yet I was devastated to be dragged from such deep sleep.  I won’t go into details, but we were rehearsing then filming a kiss.  I was either in heaven or hell (the filmmaker was not clear on which), kissing this person I was not supposed to be kissing.  It was complicated, and it wasn’t even that good of a kiss.

In the meantime, I fell asleep last night before doing laundry, so I have to run someplace and purchase underwear and pantyhose for tonight’s rehearsal.  Oh well, I guess I could wear crappy underwear and the wrong color pantyhose.  Perhaps I would have time to do laundry, because I can put the underwear in the drier.  Only I can’t put the pantyhose in the drier, and I need more pantyhose anyways.  I could use a few new pairs of undies as well, come to think of it.

And this is what happens when I try to make a blog post before having coffee.  I babble on about dreams and underwear.  I know some of you are screaming, “TMI!” an expression regular readers know I hate.  I hope at least you had some coffee.

 

In My Defense, I’m Still Sick with a Cold

So there I was, with a perfectly innocuous Miss Marple movie I could write a blog post about, yet I was writing about a rather unsavory dream I had. My object was not psychoanalytical in nature but to disprove the notion that the ideas you wake up with in the middle of the night and forget are actually any good anyways.

This was when I realized how unsavory the dream actually was, and I thought, “Wait a minute! My mother reads this blog!”

This would make an excellent introduction to a discussion on self-censorship and how we really can’t worry about whom we offend. Look, I understand the Let It All Hang Out school of art as well as the next exhibitionist. But I also agree that for some things, there is a time and a place.

The place for my dream (oh, all right, it involved body parts and probably not in the way some of you are thinking) (you know who you are) is in my notebook, safely disguised by my messy handwriting, till I re-write and edit it till I feel it is ready for public consumption. Or it will stay in the notebook and rot while I go on to write something else, having learned what I can from that bit of nonsense.

So you can stop shaking your superior artist fingers at me. I read Writing Down the Bones. I know all about first thoughts and practice writing. I just don’t think I have to post every damn thing I write. Unfortunately, since I like to post something every day, I post a lot of what I write that perhaps some people think would be better off left in said notebook. Well, think what you like.

As my headline said, I am still suffering from a head cold. I’m fuzzy, I’m unhappy. I will cease to inflict myself upon you. Let’s try for Miss Marple again on Wednesday.

Side note: Writing Down the Bones by Natalie Goldberg, in case you’ve never heard of it, is a very interesting book about writing and creativity. I recommend it.