John Cameron Mitchell

       Darkness. Humidifier. White noise machine set on “rain.” Raindrops on window. Skin damp. Throat dry. Eyes blurred. Penis erect and inanimate. Glass of water while peeing: long and fragrant. Dried-up contact lens on the toilet seat. Bath pillow and special attachment to fill tub to rim (Bed, Bath & Beyond). Near-scalding, so body tenses before relaxing. Final squirt of urine. Disperse with hand. Muscles recovering from shock of sleep. Dry and stretch while oatmeal cooks. Eat. Recover from shock of meal. Make calls. Bundle up. Step outside. New York Times from Iraqis. Orange juice from Koreans. Latte from Starbucks. Flirt with counterboy. Recover from shock of flirting. Run into actor friend recovering from bad miniseries. He’s rereading a movie he turned down that turned out to be good. Where did he go wrong? Go for sushi. Recover at home. Vocal warm-up. Walk to theater. Say hi to elevator operator. Enter freezing dressing room. Place wet costumes on radiator. Put on Emmylou Harris. Make tea. Look out window at Statue of Liberty. Feel really good. Great NPR reporter. Answer questions on tape. Shake his hand. Start makeup. Greet my dresser. Greet band. Don wig and dress. Pee standing up–dark and fishy. “Places!” on loudspeaker. Elevator down. Band rubs falsies for luck. Sing “Nessun dorma” in hallway. Stage manager cues me. “Oh Beautiful” begins on electric guitar. Walk down center aisle. Great audience. Fun show. Laugh at mistakes. Elevator back up. Loudspeaker in dressing room: “Glenn Close, Bobby Kennedy Jr., and the B52s on their way up to see you.” Kisses. Flowers. Surrealism. Walk home in rain. Pizza. CNN. Discovery Channel. Slate magazine diary. Pee–pale and unscented. Bath. Penis erect and animate. Eyes blurred. White noise machine. Humidifier. Darkness.