Last night it seemed I was awake for hours having lucid dreams about performing the play. A first for me. Though I’ve had such dreams before they’ve been about writing, when a kind of fever grips you as you put together a story. At least that’s what happened with Songbook. I would have bouts of getting no sleep as the characters talked to each other, went here and there, and sometimes surprised me. Same with my acting dream last night. It wan’t the old actor’s dream of being trapped on the stage not knowing the lines, I ran through the whole play maybe one-and-a-half times, stopping to repeat moments I didn’t like, or changing what I’d done, and adding a line here and there. So my imagination is engaged. Either this is new for me or I’ve just forgotten it taking place in the past. For the most part you use such small scraps of your talent as you go about being in this play and that. Doesn’t take much to act Agatha Christie. Very few working actors get a chance to stretch out in a part and do something challenging.