I went to a new play this afternoon, Five Faces of Evelyn Frost (original title Five Faces of Camille Brunelle, 2012), by Guillaume Corbeil (b. 1980), translated from the French by Steven McCarthy, directed by Claude Poissant, for a coproduction with Théatre Français de Toronto. And that's all I'm going to say right now. Soon I plan to do an assessment of the current theatre that I have seen over the past year. I have to think some more about the plays I have seen before I pass (harsh) judgment.
And here I am, struggling to tell a story in a dramatic form. It's taking up an enormous portion of my time and it's entirely on spec, no hope of fortune, and even if, no hope of fame. We go on, we go on.
What would I rather do? Years ago now when my husband died, my best advice for coping with grief was this: "Have a reason to get out of bed in the morning." It holds true for coping with age, too. Here's another one, by someone you may remember, if you're old enough:
"After all, tomorrow is another day."