May This Never Repeat Itself

I am a woman obsessed.

For the last few months (if you check out my last blog entry), I have been doing a lot of reading. Many people have asked me WHAT I am reading that has been taking up all of my creative energy? Well... Nothing in particular... But GENERALLY speaking, I've been reading a lot of historical fiction.

Ok, well, anyone who knows me well knows that THIS is not exactly anything new. I always read historical fiction. I WRITE historical fiction. As far as I'm concerned, it is sometimes the only thing worth escaping into!

But... BUT... Because of all this reading I've been doing, I am now obsessed with history. Completely and totally OBSESSED.

I spend hours at night surfing online, scouring Wikipedia, flipping through Hyper History, reading biographies, following timelines... Soaking it all up like a great big learning sponge! I can't get enough of it! Then I sit back and think, wow! Everyone should know all this! How can people not pay attention in History class? How was it that I did so badly on those tests?

Last Sunday, driving back from a show in Monticello, NY, I bored Michael to near-death for 2 hours with the history of Jews in Medieval Europe. I ranted about converse's and the King of Poland and blah, blah, blah... I couldn't help myself.

My newest quirk (much to the dismay of the people around me) is spouting out random historical trivia, hungry to share all that I've learned during my late night online time travels. For no apparent reason, I'll say something like, 'Quebec used to be called New France when it was first settled, but the name didn't stick' or 'the first actors weren't called actors at all, but were called mummers and played for coins thrown on the dirt in front of them'. Michael particularly liked the one about Rhode Island being a haven for religious outcasts in the early 17th century, the place where they sent all the 'freaks'... Heh, heh, heh... I went to my sister Maryn's Madrigal dinner (creatively set in the late 15th century and cleverly done), but afterwards I explained to her all the things that were historically inaccurate about the portrayal. A few days ago, I bought my Mom a book of the History of London Royalty (she loves anything British) for her birthday. But after she opened it, I said unabashedly, 'Uh, I really want to read this', and took it home with me. Oh dear... My poor family...

I'm beginning to wonder if maybe this a medical condition... Maybe after a while I'll just run out of space in my brain and then I won't be interested anymore.

Or maybe I'll just write long and boring blogs about the War of the Roses until I no longer have any friends...