Stubborn lines keep sticking in my head; only a few days to go until She Stole My Every Rock and Roll hits the Anywhere Festival.
Strangely, although it might not “sell” you on the idea of seeing the show, while rehearsing I find new lines that I either don’t understand or understand anew, or wonder what I was thinking when I wrote that, or what part of Betsy’s life was mined to write this or that section of the show.
I remember the day I first figured that someone had outlasted my past lovers combined. How odd to marry the mathematical with the romantic and to imagine that that was love.
eleanor j jackson 