From last night’s play. Turns out it wasn’t just based on Haruki Murakami (one of my favorite authors who writes trippy dreamy stories that almost always feature some character dissociating from herself) but Leo Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina as well. Coincidentally, I invited the friend who I’d befriended in a class on Anna Karenina exactly three years ago. Synchronicity, anyone?
The play itself was good. Strange, a little creepy, but intentionally so. Murakami’s work always leave me feeling weird, like I’m straddling some in-between of reality and a bad dream.