Nothing is Elegant Except That Which is Seen to Be

Today was 2 PM theater and seeing a friend of mine playing the part of an historical idol of mine to Sondheim.

Go figure.

Here I am, typing away on the floor of a bedroom, munching away at a peanut butter Twix (they are kind of rare), thinking about topics that are larger than my life right now. The nights have been continuing on with the incredible conversations I mentioned that have been going on as of late.  It feels good, and nourishing, and exploratory, and real. I haven't been going to bed any earlier than 2 AM.

Meanwhile, in regular life, I'm feeling a bit overwhelmed. I keep thinking of my friend Tony and the conversations we would have about the word imposter and how it can creep up on us at times.  What are the realms of life that you feel, sometimes, that you are an imposter? How do you connect with the word?

I'm trying my hardest.

There are days that things get to me and my eyes sting. Tonight might be one of them. Stilettos and faux leather skirts, or pizza and warm sweaters? Either way, I will continue - at least for a bit- reading Say Her Name by Francisco Goldman, then getting into an adventure or six.

I have less than 48 hours left of "spring break", and I intend to use every bit of it.


be well; be loved,

k.

(image: Luigi Veronesi, Senza titolo, 1936 via camillea tumblr)