Can't Sleep

An idiot, me; this world, I swear to god. I was pretty sure I understood. Everything I thought I knew, a puff of dust. Biggest problem with this show, believe me, I've thought about this, is that in the hanging, there must be extra space for the labels, so everything will not be hung exactly centered. There's no algorithm for the eccentricity. It's easy to do the numbers if everything is centered, A, plus half of B, equals C, when A equals the space between. I wake in a sweat that the balance is unbalanced. A preparator's nightmare. But, of course, the labels have weight, and for a show like this, where information is critical, the signage is important, therefore carries even more weight. A false alarm. I know I can do this. Still, I think, we face a difficult week. Much of the work has never been part of a show, it might be hanging for the first time, as part of an installation. I need to wrap my head around this, come to grips. I think I agree with myself, that it's the circus, imperfect by nature. Side-show freaks: the bearded lady, a three-legged man, that midget breathing fire. It's over the top, and everything is here, but I have to install it, and I'm insecure, because my office, the kitchen, is a mess. Both Tammy and Pegi forgot they'd spread out food for a Friday feast and I don't have time to deal with this. My job, I thought this was clear, is to install a show, and keep the heat and humidity at a certain level. I can't be everywhere at once. I'd love to build a set for Sharee and April for the upcoming residency, but I really don't have the time. I want to do a stair installation, but I can't think about that now, the task at hand takes precedence. I'm good at this usually, so the next week is a kind of test. I'm ok with that, I've always done well with tests; just, please, get this other shit off my back. I bleed therefore I am. I make no greater claim. Fact is, I can do this, with a little help and a great deal of slack. Odd, isn't it, that it comes down to an aging hippy and a room full of art? If someone's watching they must wonder how it could come to this. But here we are. It's sloppy and imperfect, but what we're dealt. I intend to do my best and hope it's good enough. I'm driven in this, by something I'd be hard-pressed to explain, to get it right. It's theater, come on, make believe. To get it right is relative. I understand that. My job is to make Sara's vision real. Tune in, turn on, drop out. Give up, you can't do it. Expectations are the ultimate curse. There's a Dylan song that explains everything, "North Country Fair", listen closely.