Inconvenient

Dear Jack,

I feel like writing today, but that is unfortunate because I am down a finger with which to type. You see, this morning, I had borrowed my boss' swiss army knife in order to open some obstinate packaging. Grand- just one problem. In my haste to open said package, I neglected to observe which way the inordinately sharp knife was facing. After applying much pressure and moving what I thought was the correct and proper way, I felt a searing pain coming from my right index finger. Astonished, I looked down only to find my poor, sad, now abused digit drowning in a sea of my own blood.

I immediately applied pressure to the [quite deep] wound and waited for the bleeding to at least slow before I attemtped to wash it out. The process took quite a bit of time actually, what with the inevitable search for antiseptic, neosporin, and a band-aid. Now my finger is very sore, and virtually inoperable. Not only did I slice the fingertip, but I somehow either a) sliced completely through my finger and cut through the nail as well (something I find unlikely given that the bleeding did eventually stop and I do not have any visual on having 2 right index fingers); or b) when I pulled my finger away from the blade, I rolled my finger and then split the nail all the way down to the nail bed (I think this the more likely of the 2 possibilities).

Either way, I hope to save the nail. I doubt it will grow back in time for the production, and it just would not do to have Emily Webb looking as though she lost a finger to gangrenous case of frostbite. Nevertheless- my finger does hurt quite a bit, and I am just now discovering how ungrateful I am towards just this one finger. For instance, I did not realize that the right index finger is the one that I use primarily while typing. I'm getting along all right, but my third finger is not used to the adaptation yet. My injured finger is the finger I use to put my contacts in, to apply the needed pressure while writing anything, to point or indicate direction (all right, so that one still works), to turn pages in books, to press buttons, to move the mouse on my laptop... The list conceivably goes on forever... And I am at a loss.

I bought 2 movies and a clothes rack yesterday. The formers were luxuries needed to keep my sanity intact while in this stage of my existence, and the latter was something desperately craved because I have no closet.

No, wait. Strike that. I do have a closet, the only problem is I live in it. But, I cannot complain as I do not have to pay any type of rent whatsoever. I have reached an unspoken agreement with my boss. Instead of staying in a room in the inn proper and moving every time my room is rented out, I have moved into what is lovingly referred to as "The Baby Room." The name was agreed upon not because it was ever intended for and/or used as a nursery, but instead refers to its size. The room is a 10ft by 4ft room, with sloped ceilings that mean I can only stand upright in the very middle of the eaves. In this room as 1 twin bed, a nightstand, 1 dresser, a small tv stand and an old but still functional television.

It's... cozy...

Needless to say, all of my clothes do not fit into said dresser, so the clothes rack was bought to bring about some semblance of normalcy. Just one problem... it's too tall for the room. BUT! I have not given up hope yet. On my days off this week (Monday and Tuesday), I plan on a massive rearrangement- or more accurately misappropriation of my things. Hopefully the room and I can come to some sort of unspoken agreement.

I'm staring at one of the dvd's I got yesterday- Stranger than Fiction. I don't know if you ever had a chance to see that one. If not, go out and rent it tonight. It's worth at least one, if not multiple viewings. The basic premise of the movie is that life is fleeting, and we should make the most of it while we are able. One of those universal archetypes. I find myself agreeing- not because of any new discovery or epiphany, simply because it should be recognized.

Many people find the play Our Town to be boring and old fashioned, but I disagree. Not just because I'm now in it, mind you, but because of this similar timeless message. It's eternal message. That's actually my favorite part of the entire play. Allow me to explain-

The Stage Manager has just opened Act 3- Emily Webb has died in childbirth, and the fleetingness of life is at the forefront of everyone's minds. Just when we hit the brink of despair, Wilder and the Stage Manager find it paramount to remind us that even though things appear bleak- "We all know that something is eternal. And it ain't houses and it ain't names, and it ain't earth, and it ain't even the stars-- everybody knows in their bones that something is eternal, and that something has to do with human beings. All the greatest people ever lived have been telling us that for five thousand years and yet you'd be surprised how people are always letting go of that fact. There's something way down deep that's eternal about every human being."

I don't really know how to conclude these thoughts. I just find that passage so moving. Every night I sit backstage waiting to go on and join the rest of the dead souls lying in wait, and I know... Eternity is waiting.

Always,
John