So it's the afterglow. My students were so beyond amazing last night at Lolita--the dirty girls in the basement will not let you down.
Speechless, still, waking up in the morning, in the face of such amazing beauty and talent and humor and light and energy and bad-ass femininity and well-done revision. I think I get it now how guys feel when they get all overwhelmed with how amazing a woman is and sort of can't quite deal with the voltage! So funny! For me to feel that overwhelm it took what, nine of the best of the best at their full power stepping up in midsummer.
I still don't quite know how I ended up with this little writing school as my job but I am just dumbfounded with gratitude for my luck in being surrounded by the most talented women in New York, getting to watch them create entire worlds and step into their artistic authority.
I was sitting there by the mic and it was like a million volts running right through everything, I would have fried my circuits if I hadn't made myself walk outside quietly for a couple of minutes during the little break in the middle and afterwards.
Sometimes I have other writers in as substitute teachers when I have to miss a class, and the students always report that the sub seems sort of shocked and freaked out at the quality of the work.
Yes.
I am not a girl who just walks into my apartment and falls into bed, asleep--even if I get home at 3am I sit there on the couch for awhile or something first. But the voltage of last night so wiped me out that I apparently went straight there. This morning I woke up to my purse on my pillow and lipstick on the sheets.