The Bloody Doors Off

I had a blog post brewing earlier.

But I had a conflict.

Hosting Sing For Your Supper.

That had a set start time, and so I made it priority.

Figured I’d remember the post for later.

I think it would’ve been a good one.

Yeah.

Think. Would’ve.

Because of course it’s no longer in ;my head.

I could’ve started the post and saved a draft.

That would’ve been the smart thing.

So it’s gone.

Into the ether.

And all I can think is.

I’m a bloody idiot.

But, as Marlo says, we’re not allowed to talk about ourselves that way.

(Even if it’s true.)

But I must be an idiot, because I didn’t do the smart thing.

Yep, I can run logic in circles.

But no.

No beating myself up.

It was a missed opportunity.

Nothing more.

Maybe it’ll come back.

Maybe I’ll come up with something better.

Like that time I was writing my first fringe show back in 1997, up all night writing and a power outage wiped out everything I’d typed. Had to start over.

It was better.

I remember that show.

I’d gotten into Toronto Fringe in the winter of ’96.

All I had was a title.

Two weeks before the show went up, I was still looking for an ending.

Yet it all came together.

The third show? Best audience, great performances.

I had live music: a pianist and a saxophone player.

They improvised jazz before the curtain went up.

The audience applauded enthusiastically when they wrapped up.

In that moment, I knew.

I had them.

A long-time Fringe patron came up to me after the show.

Said he’d loved it.

The guy was well known among the community.

He saw everything.

And never minced words.

Okay, that was a tangent.

Dunno how I got there.

Not sure how to wrap it up.

So I’ll just say.

Goodnight, moon.

p.s. Clearly this blog post isn’t one of my best.

But at least I’m writing.