The Histrionic (Not Again)
The last two days I’ve been pondering whether I should go and see The Histronic again, which I was booked in to see today with my season ticket. I ended up not going, mainly with the reason that if I had spent so much time wondering whether I should go again or not, then surely I can’t have been too enthused by the prospect, so why bother. It’s certainly the best play I’ve wasted a ticket on, though.
Had a dream this morning – if I remember any of my dreams, it’s usually the one just before I wake up. Mother was being auditioned as a violinist for the Sydney Symphony, and the audition was taking place not behind a curtain (or however they do it to avoid discrimination nowadays) but in the bowels of the Opera House, near the steps up to the Concert Hall platform. She got the job too.
Nothing much for me to interpret from it, I think – not that I ever like to interpret dreams, but I do enjoy piecing together the sources of the various components.
Also, father managed to get a letter to the editor published in the paper today – published in print before I am – oh! (That’s not entirely true – I won a caption competition once.)
And, in my quest to read Anna Karenina, I powered through about 300 pages of Parade’s End today, and now, writing this, I realised I could have just started Anna Karenina and come back to Parade’s End at a later date… But I will finish Parade’s End now, I think. Quite enjoying it, too – much better than Life and Fate, which I never finished, and set up on much the same themes.