Good morning, all! I was out of bed and wide awake at 4 am, pondering the email response I'd written to the Master Toymaker, and I wrote another draft between 4 and 4:45. This one's nicer: I don't call him a pig although I did tell him I hope to never see or hear from him again. I went back to bed and slept fitfully with horrible dreams of broken friendships and betrayal unril 7:30.
I will shortly depart in the rain for Toyland to cart home more personal items. I would like everything out by Friday; it isn't much: about three bookshelves of books and scrapbooks, all the photocopies of the full scores to BABES IN TOYLAND that I copied in 1990 for The Houston Grand Opera, a few CDs that I may end up tossing. I have the piano and the computer to worry about, and if they're pitched, that's life. As far as I'm concerned, anything left belongs to the Institute and I suspect it will all become landfill.
After I bring home this first load today, I will call Joshie, learn about times for rehearsal this afternoon and tonight's dress, and plan my day.
Excelsior!