Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow

Weeell, so tomorrow is the day: I send my laptop off into the void of the postal system. *sniff* Which means that if I don't get to go see the dress rehearsal of Godspell tonight, I'll at least get to finish the Bearskin page and all will be at least *done* in that world. Then I will simply spend time lobbying for rights to the scanner to get in all the Brigadoon & Twelfth Night pictures that I can and build those pages.

Went to Sh.'s bridal party today. Very nice. Very Winchesterian. Classical music and formal tea. Some fun games that I must remember for whenever. I kept thinking back to all those 1950's plays like "Hay Fever" and "You Can't Take it With You" - nothing so raunchy, though. Rather, acronym stuff, literary games, etc. I think, if I've any say in the matter, I'd want a bit more activity at such a reception for myself - this is, of course, presuming that the occasion is ever warranted. Indeed, yesterday, when out with Mom seeing Seabiscuit (cute, a little sappy in places for me, but well done), and then dinner, I commented that if *ever* I get married, I'll need the six months engagement at least to plan around productions! Oy!

So, once again, I am contemplating the single life. Of course, all this contemplation, re: single or married, in a sense is altogether moot. In a sense: who cares? I have a vocation now in drama, teaching and writing - quite enough, thank you very much! - without adding in a husband or children to the mix. How - how - could I be a mother and still pursue my careers, which, knowing me, I simply will do. I don't want to be a negligent mother. And yet I fear that I won't give enough attention to my own children, should I ever have any.

Again, this is moot. Ridiculous. One is given grace to do what God intends to be done. Witness Bearskin and whatnots. Witness teaching! All in good time, my pretty.... Not quite the source one would want for such a quote, yet true nonetheless.

Of course, that's not really what's bothering me. The question of presentation is. Of what JPII is calling us to - and how to do so in a world so...at odds with itself! We are a world divided - meant for Heaven, fit for Hell. (That's a great phrase - ought to go in a sonnet somewhere - only it needs one more foot on each line....) Makes for *great* drama, though. Absolutely - great drama comes from the realization of what is meant to have been vs. what is. So comedy is when what is meant to be happens, and tragedy is when what is meant to be fails. Seems fairly pat to me! And yet if one believes that *nothing* is meant to be, what do you get? Bad plots, that's what you get. Of course, I'm not talking fate here - impassive, impersonal, irrational concept. Nor yet destiny, as the word is so often conceived. Yet rather what we are created for, and then through glorious, dramatic free will, what we ultimately achieve or lose. Curious to substitute Christ and the Church for the "Boy meets girl" analogy....

UGH! I want to write! Something amazing, something life-changing, something absolutely genius-like, something Jungian extroverted, something worthy of Aristotle, something to take its place on the shelf along the greats, something Dickens would have liked, something with Hugo's passion and Dostoyevsky's thought - and Austen's romance. I suppose that's Elspeth and Elspeth is so very, very far away.... (((echoechoecho))) The next two books will further that, certainly - hopefully without sacrificing fun - and, y'know what? If I'm going to write, I'm simply going to sit down and write - rather like I plunked my rear in this here chair and began typing James Joycian away without - or rather with too many! - a thought in the world. (Joyce had too many, too - and no editor, alas.)

Further note to self: must get to Ireland sometime. Simply must. "Oh Erin gra machrie (phonetic spelling!)/You're the only one for me...You're the bright star of the west/The land St. Patrick blest/You're the dear, little isle, so far away." One of Sh's aunts was telling me about Ireland and about the rocky sea-shore and looking over the cliffs and absolutely believing "here be dragons." Oh! Where, where is my ticket to Ireland! (Where, where is the money to make such a venture.) We will get there, we swears it, precious.

Right, toodles, off to gambol about in the mists of Liadan or the cobblestones of Lunadie, depending on who speaks first!

Mood: Resiliant
Music: Was Pirates of the Caribbean; Will be Faire Celts
Phonetic spelling of the day: E horo *nn-nn-nn-na-na*, la de da, di da da *aaah!* In you-u, in yo-o, *mumble-hmm-hmm* ooh aah, leshti, massi, gani-oh-ee! (Nevermind going to Ireland, my whining attempts at half-heard Gaelic would get me exported at the very docks!)