Confession time

Okay. Here it is: I don't feel like writing right now. I just don't want to do it. I woke up early this morning to try to get some work in and I looked at my computer and couldn't think of anything I wanted to do less than sit at my computer and make things up. I just can't do it. I want to do things, talk to people, people from other walks of life, who do other things than work in theatre. It gets like this, this small, tiny world, talking about these little things like they're actually important and sometimes I can't stand it. One of the biggest problems with theatre right now is that it's a closed circle. Plays that are produced are produced to satisfy one of two audiences: people with enough money to pay the exorbitant ticket prices (old, white folk, natch) or other theatre people who've gotten free tickets. And we think we're doing something. We think we're saying things. Sometimes it's all just too much.

And sometimes, too, it's just too much inside of my own head. Sometimes it's just too much. I want to get out of it, get out of my head and do things, regular things with regular people and not think about writing, not think about plays, not dissect what I do so much, personally or professionally.

Y'know, I think this is coming out of having spent yesterday basically alone, with the only interaction I had with a playwriting group. And not an especially collegial one. Not like friends sitting around talking about plays. So...I guess that's part of it. But sometimes I just get fed up with being a writer and feeling like less of a "doer", you know. It gets to me sometimes. And this is one of those times. And there's nothing to do but throw in the towel and walk away for a while. Really. Fighting against it just makes it worse.

So I'm taking today off. Hell, the rest of the week. Why not? Gotta let the fields lay a little fallow.