In Which I Bite Off More Than I Can Chew

There is a wonderful scene about half-way through the film "Victor/Victoria" where James Garner, who has fallen in love with Julie Andrews (though she may be a man) but not yet broken up with Lesley Ann Warren, is in bed with Miss Warren and is having trouble........ performing. Lesley Ann has a wonderful monologue wherein she tries to buck him up by telling him not to worry about it, ending with: "The more you think, the more you worry, worry, think... and before you know it, you are impudent!"

I'm feeling rather impudent impotent myself, these days.

I have lots of projects and irons in the fire and ideas and stuff, but whenever I sit down to try to write about them it comes out stilted and weird (if it comes out at all). The writing, it is eluding me. And I do so want to tell you all about what's currently driving me batshit crazy! (Aren't you glad?)

It may have been precipitous of me, but back in January I decided that the best way to unclog my inspiration highway was to say yes to things that felt scary. To jump off the cliff. In that vein, I am signed up for a March advocacy trip to Washington, DC with the PKD Foundation. I'm going to go speak to my representatives about PKD and the urgent need for increased research funding, which means I'm going to have to convincingly pass as a grown-up who knows what she's talking about. Also, it would be best if I don't break into a stammer and my palms don't sweat, and if I could manage to make my hair not to look like a dead wombat is sitting on my head, that would go in the plus column as well. No pressure.

(When I was a freshman in college one of the campus women's groups organized a similar trip to Harrisburg to lobby our state reps on freedom of choice. I took the bus ride, but when we actually got there, I chickened out and didn't visit a single representative. Karma's a beeyotch.)

Then, when salary cuts at work were imminent, I decided the best way to make up some of my lost wages would be to start a new business selling elegant French pastries at our local Co-Op, launching in early March.



This is the expression that can be found on my face, most days. I am having severe performance anxiety, fueled in part by my ridiculously high standards, in part by the fact that after all my expenses, I'm going to earn about $1.25 net per cake sold. But I'm going to try it -- the most I have to lose is my sanity, free time, manicure, and $200 spent on marketing and packaging materials. Right?

In other news, I start rehearsals next week for George Bernard Shaw's "Heartbreak House", performing March 6 & 7 at the Players Club of Swarthmore. It's been several years since I've directed and am hoping fervently that it's like riding a bike, but I have my doubts. On the plus side, I have a terrific cast. On the minus side, I just lost my stage manager. At least it will be over quickly.

For those keeping track, all of these terrifying events are occuring between now and the first week of March. Why do I do this to myself? A question for the ages.

Pray for me.