I am the last one awake tonight at The Sleepy Dog. As we spend our last night here, I can't seem to be able to let go and let the night pass into morning. I seem to want to squeeze every minute out of it that I can. So here I sit, typing to whoever reads this. Our last night at The Sleepy Dog seems melancholic. As every vacation must come to an end, this is a predictable entry into the log kept so far. We work so hard in our field that a week away from all of it seems like a Godsend. And while I look forward to my upcoming projects, from my cabaret on July 20th, to Whorehouse at Signature, to the Open House at Signature, to directing our musical, NightoftheLivingDead at KAT this fall, I look at these last hours through a microscope. I strain to see them closer. How is it that a week passes so quickly? Yet as human beings, don't we say these things all of the time? Doesn't it seem like every 20 minutes we are fixing breakfast at a certain age? (this comment is courtesy of Matt's family).And as we approach "re-entry" into normal life for all of us, Boo included, I look at these last few minutes before bed as a treasure as precious as gold. Every minute that passes between now and tomorrow evening at 6, when we leave, will be a treasure.
Goodnight from the Outer Banks...
xoxoSGS/MJC/BSC
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