At my folks for Thanksgiving, though they haven't seen much of me, as I tend to scurry off upstairs to work on my final project - a five-minute scene of a play by . . . I think it's Eugene O'Neill's play based on a Euripedes play. I don't know the titles of either, but they both have incest, matricide, betrayal, and general murder. I missed the incest part at first, and couldn't figure out why the actress was rubbing all over her "brother's" chest. Eventually I figured it out. Sometimes I'm slow, but I get there all the same.
I oscillate between hating the piece and liking it. I get frustrated because I know what I want to do, but what's in my head is grand and creepy and what comes out is tiny, quivering, shaky - and, believe it or not, too pretty. Or at least that's the way it seems in the thick of it. I suppose that's just the creative process.
It's been a peaceful Thanksgiving, otherwise. I didn't get to spend much time with my niece, but the school stuff just couldn't be ignored. During Christmas I hope to remedy that.
Other than that, I'm eating too much and drinking too much caffeine. But I FINALLY bought a pair of running shoes - Kohl's had a great sale - and some running clothes. Warm ones. So I hope to get back to that, however slowly and stilted, once we return to Chicago.