I’m working on the next theatre project, and it is very tech-centered. My approach to theatre thus far has been quite the opposite. In fact, every production we’ve done could have been presented in a living room or the backyard of a bar. Some were, in fact. I rarely use lights, never use sound cues, don’t have scenery and barely have sets. In an attempt at growth (or as a prescription for potential stagnation), I’m thinking about doing something quite different.
As I write this, it occurs to me that I’m going to do a theatrical production that mirrors the inner conflict I’ve already chronicled here – my desire to live in a cabin in the woods yet remain electronically connected. How interesting.
Does this count as a self-indulgent post? I mean, more than usual? I’ll change the subject.
I worked from home yesterday. One of my coworkers spent part of the day retrieving items from an estate that was left in its entirety to Channel 8. That’s a dedicated viewer. Some of the items were brought into the office. I did not know that this had happened because I wasn’t in the office yesterday.
This morning, my tunnel vision and I entered my office. I set my shit down, sat my ass down and woke my computer up. Then I very casually glanced out of my window, which, rather than looking out on a verdant meadow or distant mountain, opens into the rest of the office. My breath caught in my throat and tried to elbow my heart, which had just leapt up there, out of the way. There was a three-foot tall doll (“with real human hair”) on the table just outside my window. It was not just staring at me – it was peering into my soul.
I cried out, “What the fuck is that doll?” with not a slight amount of anxiety. My coworkers were amused. Seems they were all scared of it too but had already had their individual experiences the previous day. I am not exaggerating when I say that this thing literally had my heart rate up. I jumped up from my desk, grabbed the doll and immediately found a new home for it (the locked office of the coworker who’d brought the thing in). I can still smell the mothballs and nightmares on my hands from handling the thing. Maybe I’ll try rubbing my hands on my kitchen sink when I get home.