A Little Lost

I must have missed the memo with the mission statement. What we have here, if I'm not mistaken (and that could well be the situation) is the tail wagging the dog. I'm trying to open a show, and everyone else has their eye on a different bouncing ball. Most likely, as Jerry Garcia said, I'm just "Old And In The Way", but the fact that the Celtic Dancers don't have Black Watch kilts doesn't seem that important to me. Costumes, don't get me started, are frivolous. I mean, really. I wear the same thing every day, a denim shirt and jeans, an outfit, right? I don't have to think about it. At some point today I did a kind of inventory of what people were doing, and I was appalled. Maybe I should just take a week off and address my wardrobe. Some hair extensions and a different eye shadow. Even TR said he hadn't read me for the last week and I'm thinking you can't spare three minutes a day, what the fuck is the world come to? It doesn't matter, in the great realm of things, whether or not I'm read, or even whether or not a particular show opens: nothing matters, actually. Global warming is a joke, glorified by this past non-winter, and the fact that we will run out of oil. Things are finite. Get used to it. Water is, I think, the big issue. I only have enough because I harvest rain, filter it through old tee-shirts and call it safe enough. I can digest anything, a habit I learned in Catholic School, those fucking carrots.