These are some lines from my stream-of consciousness, morning pages writing today. "Yesterday's creativity hangs from my bent knees, my shoulders slouched over the notebook urging my hand to paint more stories on the page."
I literally could not write anymore then so after dropping Samuel at school, I attempted to write again at home. Very little bubbled up.
Across the street my neighbor's yard waits, only half of the wide lawn shorn. I think the eldest brother told me the boys each mow a portion of the yard. I wonder if the parents have disciplined the unruly brother, giving the foundation of the punishment on making the family look bad to the rest of the neighbors. I like it, actually. Unconventionality works for me.
A grandpa looking man pushing a khaki colored stroller sings a few lines of a love song as he makes his way down Alta Vista Drive. he has no idea he has an audience other than the baby he takes for a mid-morning ride.
Meet my cast mates for this week-end's production of Dear Harvey.
I can not recall feeling this wiped out post-performance, but then again I have never had quite such a marathon. Four times through the "Dear Harvey" script, including a very bumpy for me dress rehearsal and then two performances. This show and this message are important to me. This is my second time performing in it. Like the Vagina Monologues, I will continue creating this art for the cause of opening people's eyes and hearts. It is the most important art I can create.
My head is bending and I will turn the computer off in a moment.
"My eyelids droop as I watch Samuel inspecting each bite of pancake before putting it into his mouth."
Back to resting and quietly watching the world of my neighborhood stretch out.
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© 2011
Julie Jordan Scott
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