Don’t it feel like tonight might never be again

Louis le Brocquy, Image of Samuel Beckett, 1979, oil on canvas – Lifted from Wikipedia.

A long, LONG time ago, in an effort to expand my horizons in the entertainment field past writing, I was in an acting class. One of our first performances was “Waiting for Godot”. Being a woman, there was no role for me. So I got to sit through rehearsals, listening to the young actors butcher Samuel Beckett’s words. (It should be noted that I flunked out of this class. Yes, I flunked out of acting class. Gives you an idea why I stuck with writing.) I watched as the play went from totally meaningless to absolutely brilliant as the actors got more into their characters. I go back and read Beckett when I have the time and inclination. Lines from this play had been floating around in my mind all week. I finally took a few moments today to go through the script and was struck by this dialogue (thanks to Wikipedia for the text via cut and paste. Saved me a bit of typing):

ESTRAGON: And what did he reply?

VLADIMIR: That he’d see.

ESTRAGON: That he couldn’t promise anything.

VLADIMIR: That he’d have to think it over.

ESTRAGON: In the quiet of his home.

VLADIMIR: Consult his family.

ESTRAGON: His friends.

VLADIMIR: His agents.

ESTRAGON: His correspondents.

VLADIMIR: His books.

ESTRAGON: His bank account.

VLADIMIR: Before taking a decision.

It all makes perfect sense now. Scott Boras is a fan of Samuel Beckett.

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