So, there I am, Sunday, at Six Flags.
I dunno. The day started off with a thud. The first ride that we went on had mechanical difficulties, and right before we went on the next ride, it was shut down because of a thunderstorm. We went to supper after that, during which Chad and Annie got into a fight because he wouldn't pay for her meal. After the storm, we tried to go on another ride, and after waiting half an hour, Corb was told he couldn't go on because he was 6 ft 4, and over the height requirement. Sum total during first three hours: one ride, the teacups.
After that, things went much more smoothly, although Tiger hates rides, which forced us to split in half, and limited the number of rides I went on. I'm a big ride guy, too. Anyway, we arrived home at two in the morning, and I felt like a zombie all day yesterday. A black cloud hung over my head.
I think part of it is the fact that Corb and I haven't been alone together since last Tuesday night. It gets a bit tedious after a while, just pretending to be good friends. Oh, I know what some out there are saying: why bother pretending? But even when the younger kids know, believe me, I doubt there will be any huge public displays of affection. Everything has to be so carefully measured, weighed, reviewed. At least, for us.
When I would go out drinking with Daniel, when he got drunk enough, he used to call me "Saint Ted," and questioned how long I could live life with a halo on. I don't think I'm even close to a saint, but it does get hard sometimes, playing the single father role. Last night, all I wanted to do was to sleep, but instead, I spent the night cleaning dishes and folding up all the clean laundry that had accumulated in the little bedroom like a fungus. I didn't really get to relax until ten, and that was to snuggle with the kids and watch an episode of "Angel." I was asleep before eleven.
One of the things that my state of depression yesterday did allow me to do was to seriously question where I am headed this next year. Saint Ted aside, I ordered some grad school books from a few colleges, and I'm still trying to unlock the "Late Night Show" writer's block that developed from directing Oklahoma.
Severe questions about directing next year have formed, for me. First off, it's such a lot of work, taking up all the nights for five months that I don't watch the kids, and even on the kid nights, a lot of late evenings. Second, Ashley's entering middle school, which is going to be a huge change for her. The schoolwork alone is going to require a lot more of my attention. Next, I don't financially need the boost any more, thanks to the refinancing. And finally, I'm getting uncomfortable about the fact that I won't be able to do much in the way of modifications to the script. The president of the group wrote to me on Sunday saying, "The board doesn't feel comfortable with the amount of changes we would make to the original (copyright laws and all) so they are probably going to recommend that we just simply do the revival." Well, shit. Part of my thing is always making the show my own, so if I don't have the latitude to do what I want artistically, then there's just no fun in it for me at all!
On the other hand, directing a play fulfils my short-term artistic needs. Writing Late Night would be fun, but that's a longer term thing, one which may never ever pay off. Look at Amelia . That was completed, and I came so close, but no cigar.
My problem is that I have too many things that I like doing, and it's hard to decide, as a result, which direction I want to go. Still, the writer in me yearns for a year that stretches out without interruption. That might help unblock things.
Two other photos, for Josie...
Isn't this one great?
Tiger refused to smile for this one...