writing

Lights up on a break room, beige, boring, and bleak. The audience knows it’s a break room because it has sad, round dining tables (none of which are entirely clean), mass-produced molded-resin chairs (one step above the metal folding kind), and paper napkin dispensers. There’s also a large counter with a sink, a microwave, some depressing MDF cabinets, and a bargain-basement fridge. The lighting is criminally offensive.

Stage right, two men are seated. One (Omar) looks distraught, his head in his hands. The other (Daniel) leans in, trying to comfort his friend. Stage left, someone is seated at a different table, facing mostly upstage. Their head rests on the surface of the table. Are they sleeping? Weeping? Dead? Maybe we’ll find out.

OMAR: I don’t know, man.

DANIEL: I get it.

OMAR: No, you don’t.

DANIEL: I do, I promise. It’ll be fine.

OMAR: You don’t, and it won’t.

(Daniel sips sad, cold coffee from a sad paper cup. Grimaces. Pause. He decides to take a different approach.)

DANIEL: I think you’re looking at this the wrong way. She was an amazing human being, and we were blessed —

OMAR: (Without looking up) Ew.

DANIEL: We were fortunate to have breathed the same air. How many people accomplished as much as she did?

OMAR: (Thinking for a moment) Oprah. Madonna. Meryl Streep. George Clooney. Patrick Stewart. Ian McKellen. Dame Judy Dench. Patti LaBelle, but only in grocery stores…

DANIEL: Well —

OMAR: Cher, obviously.

DANIEL: Okay —

OMAR: (Looking up. Realization!) Oh, god, what if we lose Cher?

JAVIER: (Wailing and sobs)

DANIEL: (To Javier) Cher is fine.

OMAR: But she won’t be around forever.

DANIEL: Despite the rumors, probably not.

I cannot keep writing the same thing.

I especially cannot keep writing the same thing at the same time that everyone else I know is expected to write the same thing. Behold, the widows of the Peloponnesian War! The survivors of the Titanic! The last remaining original cast member of Carrie: The Musical! Anniversaries are a curse.

I understand that rituals are important, comforting, cleansing. I also understand that they’re meaningful only when we imbue them with meaning. I’ve left plenty of rituals behind (smoking, religion), and I’ll happily add the the High NOLA Day of August 29 to the pile.

I have expressed my gratitude repeatedly.

I have expressed my biggest regret repeatedly.

I have documented the miracles and the mundane and the missed opportunities (too many to link).

I don’t think I have much more to say. Just put it on a loop. I have other work to do.

sturtle [dot] com

Bubbling Over: A Revolution in Less Than One Act (A Work in Progress)

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