Last night our class opened our Thesis Projects--two weekends, five pieces each night. Mine was last night. I thought it would be a complete failure--I didn't take enough time to play, we didn't have enough rehearsal time, we've over-rehearsed bits and lost the spontaneity, the premise is juvenile, the structure is flawed, I have too much tech, too much set, too many props...
It went well. People laughed. I guess when it comes down to it, people like silly stuff onstage.
In the meantime I've killed 7 mice in my apartment. Would you say that's an infestation? At first we tried the humane kind--they are humane in that they don't catch mice! Then I bought traps. After the first one Bindi Girl and her beau and I had a funeral--Beau played the Casio, Bindi prayed in Hindi, I recited a limerick in its honor.
Now--fuck it, I'm a killing machine. I can empty one of those big black boxes, and reset it, and have another one trapped in a matter of hours. Okay, so it is an infestation. But neither my landlord nor I want to use poison. We've decided to continue the killing spree until this batch is gone, and then see about sealing the holes. As I write this I realize that I have a kind of morbid fascination with my task--how long will it take for me to end the reproductive cycle of this mouse family? Bindi's on tour--isn't aware of my new blood lust. She may need to stay with Beau until the slaughter is over.