Dreams.

In the old days, I used to have really wacky dreams.  A friend gave me a notebook, so I could jot down the best of the best and I would share them with people.  Who can forget my dreams about Oompa Loompas in Christmas Carol?  Or the one featuring Richard Gere, the Dalai Lama and Amtrak?  The Coterie Players?  Anyway, the point is, I don't seem to be dreaming anymore.  Or, if I am, I don't remember them.  And the memory of the dreams seems to have stopped sometime around my surgery.  Is this something to think about?  Something to tell my doctors?  Am I getting good sleep?  Too much?  Not enough?

I really started thinking about this last night/this morning, after attending the memorial service for Doric Wilson.  I didn't know Doric for very long, and I didn't know him all that well, but we enjoyed each other (I think).  We appreciated that we loved a lot of the same people, and I think our cheerleading was complementary to each other.  I respected his place in theater history and he appreciated that.  Plus, I was always a good audience for his glorious stories!  Oh, and I was the lucky recipient of one of those Street Theater DVDs...

I'm so glad I took him up on an invitation from late last year, to go see Jean-Claude van Itallie's new piece at La Mama.  It was the first (and only) time we spent together outside of TOSOS.  I had a great time, just chatting with him, and watching him enjoy the company of so many like-minded theater people.  Plus, he introduced me to Jean-Claude, which was fantastic.  I also ran into Doric at Charles Busch's holiday offering Times Square Angel, and we had a giggle together at my being practically the only gal in line to get in.  He was also more than kind to me the last time I saw him--at darling Robert's cabaret show, the night everyone generously donated money to help me out after my surgery and the fire.  My memory is that we said "love you" as we parted.  It makes me happy to remember it that way.

I was doing the stage directions for the reading of Joshua Conkel's play I Wanna Destroy You the night we found out that Doric had died.  It was such a surreal experience--all of us were worried, because we knew Doric wouldn't just not show up for a reading.  But we got started, since we had a packed house.  We kept going, yet looked up every time someone darted into, then out of, the room.  It seemed so unfair that we didn't get to say goodbye, but I don't know.  Maybe it's better that way.  This way, he's always present, always vital, and we can imagine he'll be at the next reading for sure. 

The memorial service last night was lovely, filled with touching stories about Doric by his friends from the old days, and also really heartwrenching memories from young playwrights whose lives were touched by Doric.  To hear from someone "yes, you are a writer, and what you write matters" is so important.  All of these kids were so moved and choked up by their memories of Doric's validating them--it was sad and hopeful at the same time.  The scenes from Doric's last play, The Boy Next Door, were really terrific and it's so unfair I won't get to watch Doric watch a production of it.  I'll admit to wishing the house had been more full; he paved the way for so many who don't even know it.  It's up to those of us left behind to get the word out.

As I was on the subway home, the tribute that touched me the most and that swirled in my brain, was the one from Jean-Claude van Itallie.  He ended his speech by (I'm paraphrasing now) telling us how he asked Doric why they had never gotten together in the past.  Doric said he didn't know.  Jean-Claude said well, what about now?  And Doric refused, saying something like that time has passed.  That struck me like a slap on the face.  It's so sad that Jean-Claude was so brave to put himself out there, and it's so sad that Doric didn't think it could happen.  Doric was so brave, yet, here, maybe he wasn't.  (I can't know for sure, of course, but I'm projecting).  How many times have I told people 'oh, that ship has passed' when I'm asked why I'm not seeing anyone?  I've resigned myself to staying single and not getting together with anyone, mainly because I'm not brave enough.  And, well, hell, that's just stupid.  So all these thoughts are just flying on the subway ride home, then I get home and go to sleep.  And, to bring the post full-circle, I dream.  About a man.  One that I probably shouldn't be dreaming about, but still.  I think it's a start, an opening to something I had previously shut out, so I have yet another thing to thank Doric for...