Day two began, I am irked to report, with yet another snafu: my hotel room alarm clock had not been “sprung forward,” which means that the hour of email checking and tweeting I planned to enjoy suddenly became ten frantic minutes of showering, getting dressed, and hustling across the street to the theater. Clearly, I’m just not in synch with the space-time continuum.

The press breakfast at which I managed to arrive, fortunately, with plenty of time to spare, was simply lovely. I sat with Kory Kelly, Marketing Director for the theater, and gabbed about everything from iPad application and web design to the brutality of winters in Chicago, where he and I both once lived. He surprised me by reciting the range of countries from which various members of the press had traveled for the festival: Germany, Italy, Guyana, Venezuela, and Great Britain, among others.

At breakfast I also chanced to meet a woman I had only ever emailed, tweeted, and Facebooked with before the festival: Polly Carl, the Director of Artistic Development for Steppenwolf Theatre and the editor of the online journal HowlRound, for which I’ve just begun to write. It’s a much-lamented fact of modern life that so many of our relationships are digital, but I’ve learned to appreciate the ability to get to know someone virtually before meeting them in person. I wasn’t the least bit surprised to learn that I enjoyed Polly’s company.

After the press breakfast—and a quick stop to line up interviews for the following morning—I went in search of a quiet place in which to gather my thoughts. I sat myself down in what I thought was a quiet corner. In short order, however, I was joined by a playwright from NY; a quick conversation revealed a few shared acquaintances. Humana seemed to be hell bent on proving the idea that a stranger is just a friend you haven’t met yet.

My new friend and I were interrupted in our chat by the unexpected arrival of a woman with a microphone: a reporter from NPR doing two stories for Morning Edition. We were both interviewed—I felt a bit awkward having the tables turned on me, but I also got a small thrill out of it—and I hope I was at least reasonably eloquent. I did the best I could to avoid embarrassing myself.

The parade of visitors continued with a playwright friend of mine from St. Louis; we sat and had a good long catch-up chat, interrupted only by a quick visit with Marc Masterson, the outgoing Artistic Director of the theater. This is how much fun it is at Humana: you have to work hard to avoid the company of fascinating, friendly, smart people.

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The afternoon began beautifully: a production of the most enchanting, uplifting, well-constructed play I’ve seen in a long while. I was seated next to an Artistic Director from San Francisco, with whom I had a terrific chat about the demands of a cavernous theater space, and we both couldn’t believe what a beautiful production we were seeing. My joy was almost enough to help me ignore the fact that I was starting to feel a bit poorly: actually, really poorly.

Inertia carried me from one play right into the next, but as soon as I sat down, I feared I would have to get up in the middle of the show. As it happened, I made it to intermission—though I’m quite certain I missed half of what was happening while willing my stomach to settle—but only barely. I hustled back to my hotel room as soon as I could and proceeded to succumb in a big way to the virus I’d helped my son get through in the days before I left for Louisville.

Here’s what I missed, in addition to the second act of the play I had to leave: the ten minute plays that are central to Humana Festival, the big gala, and countless new connections. I’ve also missed the interviews I scheduled this morning; I’m using what energy I have to file this blog post instead. I’m feeling very much like a failure, for all of the struggles I’ve lived through, and I’m not sure how I’m going to rescue my experience here. I hope like hell I can.