An Actress Prepares
Is that a slow-motion me—my slow-motion hopes, my slow-motion dreams — unraveling? An unraveling, slow-motion me, reaching for, beseeching make believe: Don’t abandon me for reality! Is that the topsy-turvy, twisty, tipsy world of me—unraveled? Is that really me? In real time? Reaching for reality? Is that real-time me still me? In gauzy slumber I lie still and frightened. That final ravel will toll the death of me, of Bryce Maclaine, actually, and my fantastic life, the life of an actress, unraveling now, in torturous time. I can feel reality — with feet like axes — crawling...
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