Last night I went to see my Mom in a play. It was an Albee production, put on by an experimental theater in a converted apartment building. Leah Garchik mentioned the show in her Chronicle column a few days ago, and the building was almost too small for the crowd that showed up. It was so surreal to be inhabiting the same space as the actors; I once caught myself holding my breath. One wrong move or too-loud laugh, I thought, and I'll throw Mom off! I didn't have to worry, of course. Afterward, I walked down Broderick and then took Geary to Divisadero, listening to Frank Sinatra and counting constellations of Christmas lights. This is the very best time to live in the city, I think; but then again, as a holiday person, I'm biased. Tomorrow we'll go to the Three Bees to get a tree. I will be on the hunt for a tiny one to bring back to the apartment. The challenge: to find something under two feet and ten dollars! Mission impossible?
A package from Ali came in the mail yesterday. I tore into it: a Florentine pouch, petite notes, a card with Pantalone! See if you can spot it in the storm of junk that is my desktop.
Of concern: I am becoming disturbingly clumsy. It all started with the oatmeal incident, when I overturned Nora's Quaker's bin onto the floor. Since then, I've spilled a jug of olive oil, broken two teacups, and fallen in the middle of the street while J-walking. More than once. This morning I knocked my coffee pot onto the floor; it shattered. Something must be done. Maybe this is a sign that I should ballet again.
The past few days have been crazy--I always seem to forget how overwhelming finals week is until I'm in the thick of it. Papers and tests I can handle, but applying to internships is a whole new animal. There is a feeling of total, unavoidable responsibility. It is impossible to say: Well, I didn't really care. I met this morning with the editor of a literary journal, which helped to ease my anxiety. I left with stacks of books, mounds of advice and the warm, full feeling that comes with genuine conversation. And I felt amazed at the kindness in people, the way that can feel from a stranger. We should all give books away. And meet to talk about things--no emailing required. They're free, these words, in all of their forms. We forget sometimes: gratis! What better reason to write?