I suffered through Shakespeare's Richard III for two hours before running into the bathtub's open arms. I can't concentrate. I find myself staring into trees, brewing tea, puttering in my apartment. What's happened? It's not that I'm bored. I'm newly inspired by film, theatre, the weather changing. It's just that sometimes I find my heart racing, sighing, "please please do something else." Some questions on my brain:
1) is imagination genetic?
2) WTF- what am I going to do next year?
3) are we going towards perfection?
I'm still restless, antsy, confused. I could read the news or watch a film or finish this play. I could do lots of things.
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