I ran into Rebecca on the way home tonight and asked her where she had been in this part of town (north of Portland) and she said she had been in Mpls with a dramaturg for the Guthrie. But it’s okay that I’m not that cool, because Grace says dramaturgs aren’t actually necessarily very interesting people, and can be kind of snooty. (Well, I guess we could say the same things about me based on those few sentences.)
I wrote a paper outline tonight except for the paragraph where I involve my sources and strongly assert my argument. Those parts aren’t that important anyway. I’m just glad I got this much down. Now I can stop panicking.
Allergies are still on the attack, but have significantly lessened since their hellish ambush on Thursday.
I’m playing in another Tuesday recital tomorrow. More Kreisler. Soon these people might figure me out and make me stop. That’s okay because next time I’m moving on to something else (still composed by someone whose name begins with K. I get stuck in these ruts. The last two years it was Bs–Barber, Bruch, Bach–and now all of the sudden it’s K’s. Something inside me must be crying out for change. Or maybe I’m reading too much into this. That couldn’t be it though.).
Well, I’m fagged. G’night.