I awoke with the line: Dyskinesia is no disco. I rarely remember dreams but sometimes, lines survive intact. They might lead towards a poem or some other form of unpublished writing, toyed-with-scribbles. I value them more than conscious thought, I feel their mysterious provenance bestows a precedence that is closer to truth. Also if it surprises me, then it might surprise you.
But for the past year, I've allowed this habit to evaporate. They are not always guaranteed gold and often dwindle out past the margins of the page. This is mostly because of the physical and mental side effects of Parkinson's Disease. 10 years and counting. Apathy is directly linked to the production of Dopamine. So when you hear someone say - shake yourself out of it, that reinforces the failure and the effect of that failure without offering any help.
I have not directly addressed my experience with Parkinson's. I admit the reality in previous work but it is always with an attitude of surmounting it with exercise, comedy and a positive outlook. Things could be worse. I could have Parkinsons' and have no family or limbs or I could have Parkinsons and be used as a human shield in the Ukraine. On the Late Late Show there was a guest being praised by Ryan Tubridy for not letting his life be defined by the disease. I feel this perspective suits the non-PD person and they don't have to accommodate the disparity in the interaction. An ableist privilege.
I was excited by the recent launches of the Dublin Fringe and then the Dublin Theatre Festival Programmes. I marked the bright, provocative, interesting shows. But the ordeal of booking tickets brought the brutal reality home. If I couldn't manage that simple task and the prospect of travel and accommodation would prove more dramatic than the actual theatre, then it's clear, I won't be going.
I will miss the 'lovely exclusivity' of the theatre going experience. It doesn't matter if the subject is Sarah Kane or Shakepearean fare, the fundamental thing is that we're all in this safe space together and the world continues oblivious outside. It wasn't until I was doing a Masters in Drama and Theatre Studies that I learnt that the Dublin Theatre Festival existed. It exists in a different dimension and enjoys its secrets. I feel its main purpose is to process middle-class angst.
I'd love to be back in the room. I miss the fun and creativity and employing skills that are wasted on Parkinson's. I miss the community, maybe that is a more optimistic version of 'lovely exclusivity' but then people use that as a cover. It's hard because it felt like I finally arrived at a place where I could be me.
I'll leave it there for now. Didn't plan that but I think I''ll take it up sooner than before.
I awake riddled with pain.
Mainly in my legs, and elbows
I see a part of the Currach races from the window (a scene Synge might have seen and made a song and dance about) the difference? life jackets and the double glazing
Crex Crex // buzz of a phone (25 years Inis Mór Corncrake making a come back)
Now do I qualify to be a critic?
only if I abandon play, couldn't imagine the lack of imagination
endeavoured to mop the floor with...a mop and bucket
must attend to the badly bitten cabbages...
Penelope? Blue Flower?
Dreamt I was corpsing in a performance and being heckled by Margaretta Darcy.
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