Waking up in Venice

I'm writing about waking up in a Venice hotel room. The reality is so much less romantic than how it sounds. I've been reading Pat Craig's column on Great Men of Genius. Craig writes on Daisey's performance:

"But don't expect the warm, fuzzy memories of a (Garrison) Keillor -- Daisey's personal recollections are about things such as pleasant childhood yearnings for nuclear winter or the apocalypse, memories of a heavy boy in a skintight shirt on a life-size model of the Enterprise at the Maine State Fair, recollections of disabling college anxiety attacks, and the still-present bruises of finishing second in the Maine Science Fair to a girl with a hamster."

I can do this. I can take the personal and the painful to the stage.

I hope to get enough down to debut it at The Marsh next month.