Exhausted from doing-ness. Too much stuff to do, even, especially, in this summertime. I'm not rejuvenating. I'm killing myself over the garden - the garden! And these summer dance shows. Why am I doing it all? I could buy groceries and do yoga and have time to read and sit and be. This has always been a problem, making these big projects to accomplish.

These insistent misdirections. It's like a tangle of yarn - going every which way, back on its path, sideways, zig zag, to get to the end. Looped over. Passing by itself again and again. It's like not knowing if Paul Ben-Itzak was right when he sent an email back to my performance announcement: "Do I Care? Remove, You Selfish Narcisus [sic]! Stop Spamming Me" or if he's just crazy. It's like not knowing if he wrote that just to me or to everyone. It's like not knowing if the water trickling out of the tap on my toes in the bathtub is very hot or very cold. It's like not knowing when I pluck the guitar string if the note is flat or sharp. A state of confusion in a state of frenzy. That just about sums me up.

But what it comes down to is, he's right and he's wrong. He's sane and he's crazy. It's me and it's everyone. The water is hot and it's cold. The note is flat and it's sharp. The yarn, string, thread, ribbon is going this way and that way, the right and the wrong way. My incomprehensibility of this - which William Burroughs says a notable linguist says is a fault in the English language, an incompatability of opposites, the insistent "or" - is my main problem. A fine problem to have.

This week I'm in New York City performing in an improvisation festival with new and old friends. Here I am in my sister Julie's apartment in Brooklyn with some other new and old friends.