I really didn’t think I’d be at work today. Crap!

But here I am, and doing not a half-bad job of it, if I do say, given the unrelenting sinking feeling in my gut and the fact that I don’t give a shit about anything here: never really have and certainly don’t at the moment, given that at the moment my wife is at the doctor’s finding out why the hell our baby won’t come out.

She just called. She’s still at only 2 centimeters. We were supposed to have lunch together, but she’s going to be another half hour because the doc wants to do something called a “Non-Stress Test”.

I think I need one of those. Contrary to what I maintained in an earlier daylog filibuster entry about not really feeling nervous in advance of things due to my years in the theatre, I’m really starting to go a bit buggy.

In my other life as a playwright, the news is, as per usual, a subtle blend of absurd and depressing. For about half a year now a local actor/producer and myself have been making every effort to bring a production of my play Louis Slotin Sonata to Seattle in 2006, the 60th anniversary of the events detailed in the play. We’ve been dancing with three different theatres here, ranging from one of the city’s premier regional houses, to the next tier down, to a company that only started a couple years ago and really wants to make a splash. All three are “really really interested”; all three “really really love the play” and think it “really really needs to be done”; but none of them have been able to make a firm commitment. And then today I found out that a major King County grant I was up for, one that would have definitely helped tempt one of these companies to jump in the sack with us, did not come through. It’s only a minor set back. But it’s a setback I would’ve rather heard about as a blissful father of a baby ___?___ rather than a stressed out expectant headcase.

Update from OB/GYN land: the Non-Stress Test (if that’s not an Orwellian euphemism, I’ll eat my own underpants) showed that the baby is perfectly normal and happy, though the head is way far down and, as my wife says, enormous. (Hey, it’s a family trait. What can I say?) She goes in for another of these NST’s on Friday, unless something happens before then. On Friday we’ll decide when to schedule an inducement, should that be necessary.

So the filibuster rolls merrily along. This is the eleventh installment. Please trust me when I say that I never meant to go on this long. (Hell, yesterday I boosted up a level, completely against my will!) I can say this much for this moronic quest I’ve sent myself on: I’ve gotten to know a bunch more people here, all of whom have been quite delightfully encouraging, and I’ll be sad-sorry indeed to let it all go when the new order finally drives me inexorably away.