Adulthood: still not used to it. I alternate between craving youthful physical adventure and turning inward for artistic adventure, which is harder spiritually, and perhaps as hard, physically, in its way. I get distracted by my cravings to ski, motorcycle, hike, sail, scuba dive (though I no longer ride bicycles long distance--out of respect for my little friend, the prostate.) I'm less distracted by a need to travel--or rather, site see--though I remain eager to travel as a working artist. But, distractions aside, I also need to sit at my desk to undergo the adult adventure of thinking and imagining (of course, there's also the adventure of the rehearsal room, but that's another post.)
I thought I was going to move to Philadelphia this month, but one of the balls I threw up in the air during September has recently been spotted descending to earth: there's interest out there in seeing me write and perform a one man show, for good artistic and practical reasons. SO, I have to hunker down. I have a deadline. I'm setting up the grandmother's mother-in-law's apartment (I'm a dork) over Irene's garage as a den of obsession and work. My imaginative adventures are moving more indoors, for a bit; I need to give one of my adult adventures a place to roost. I move to Philadelphia when my first deadline is complete and/or stage work permits. I'll know more about the later relatively soon.