Maggie took me to see a play last night. Her friend was in it.
Her friend was okay. He would be pretty good if parts were written for him. The play sucked. I mean SUCKED. I mean: was really bad. Terrible writing, terrible acting, terrible blocking, lighting, sound... the audience was groaning.
...then, on the way home, Maggie and I got into a huge argument.
It was one of those stupid, stupid things involving details about soccer this weekend, and the marathon. I get really annoyed when things are left to the last minute, and when I'm asked to provide information that 1) I've already provided repeatedly or 2) That could easily be discovered in the time it takes to ask me to go and find out.
Clearly, though, the level of my reaction was fear-based. I'm pretty terrified about the marathon tomorrow. I'm scared I won't finish, that I'll miss the bus, etc.
I'm just scared about the whole thing.
Anyway: my back hurts, my chest hurts, and I feel like I'm bordering on the onset of a patent-pending Bronchial Event.
That must mean I'm totally ready to run.
I leave in about 4 hours for Manhattan, then no computer until Sunday afternoon *after* the race. I'll try to say bye before I go.
Love to all. Even you, playwright.
1 comment:
I'll be thinking of you tomorrow! (Oh, actually, it's today now, your time.)
You run, boy! See you at the finish line.
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