'Morning

We seemed to fall back into the everyday nonsense of non-Mexico life alarmingly fast. It’s almost as if it were some hazy dream, a Tecate soaked story from the past now reinforced with lies and exaggerations in places where truth would have seemed too commonplace. Strangely, the act of noting it, of remembering it, of throwing it out to an audience seems to have made it fade that much quicker, as if the mind had deigned that I had spent too much time with it despite what the soul had to say about the whole operation.

Anyway, life continued on while I tried to hold onto those barren roads and sunsets a little bit longer.

Kickers has been battling a tag team foe of incoming molars and a flu/cold coughing bonanza that has him upset and throwing tantrums that would be comical if you didn’t simultaneously feel bad for him and want to sell his crying ass to the highest bidder. He would wake himself up coughing, which would start him crying, which would naturally not be conducive to sleeping, and so he would spend the following morning grumpier than papa with a bar brand whisky-beer back hangover on a Tuesday. Not cool.

I already felt bad for the guy. It makes me far happier to see the little man laughing, trying to show you where all the clocks are in the room and dancing up a storm just ‘cause it moves his groovy little soul to do so, than to mope around and stand in a corner crying. Then when I came home from a Sunday work shift, feeling an unholy fire burning in my lungs like I’d inhaled off a pipe filled with wild boar hair, poop and sickness, my sympathy slid slyly to empathy. A fever kicked in, quickly followed up by a soreness and a bad, bad tired. I felt awful and I knew what was going on, it had to suck to have no understanding of why you feel like crap. I wanted to pick up my crying son and somehow find the way to explain to him that it was going to be okay. I tried lying on the couch with him, rubbing his head and humming softly. That was all fine and well until he started coughing so hard he threw up the juice I’d just given him to soothe his throat all over me.

Moving on.

The return to home also brought the start of rehearsals for a new show I’m in this spring. I think it’s going to be an interesting and fun show for people to watch, but it’s a challenging one for me personally for actory-schmactory reasons that few others would probably find interesting. It’s great to get back out onto a stage and be working after taking a couple months off, but it was definitely thrown an already fairly precarious household schedule all kinds of out of whack. Biffy’s handling it like a pro, but I miss her, and I miss the little man (even with the crank and possibility of an unasked for rainbow shower).

But… For as quick as that below the belt hitting sickness came on, it fled almost as fast. I’m not 100%, but feeling damned good compared to Monday. Kickers seems to be feeling better too. As I got dressed for work this morning, I could hear him in his room talking quietly to himself, using a soft melody to chase away the fog, brewing up his own morning song. It makes me want to cry sometimes how beautiful and fragile the world can be.

Last night I watched our director get just angry happy as a scene we were working came together; the timing and movements and characterizations meshing in that way that makes you feel like magic is indeed a real thing. He was up on his feet and in one of those spaces of blind artistic rage that he would have pushed us past all hours of decency to keep this feeling alive and working. And had we not had a rational stage manager to be reminding him of the time, damn it, I think we all would have followed him.

And spring, fuck you, you slinky little, irrepressible whore. You’re a flirt, and lord knows I love to flirt. You had me colder than an ice rectal thermometer this morning, but the sky all pale blues and green shoots scattered around just makes me want to do a little jig down Pike Street, not caring second one how tired I was (or how the Red Red Meat on my headphones was not necessarily something one would jig to).

Sometimes I feel like I’m waking up to the world.