it's funny - i just relocated up to cambridge, where i will be spending my schoolyear as a radcliffe fellow. so now i have an apartment right near harvard square. but of course i am putting in long hours proofreading the parts for 'chance encounter' now, since our first rehearsal is in just over a week. it's a strange way to get to know the new neighborhood, because my apartment is on the first floor, with windows opening right out onto the courtyard, where people are moving in for the schoolyear. there's even a bench right outside my window, where people have been sitting having conversations about various things all day. because i have my shutters closed (otherwise people could see right into my apartment), nobody is aware that i can hear everything they say. suddenly i realized, i suppose because of my strange, almost irrepressible urge to suggest things to say to whomever is standing closest to my window (in a loud stage whisper, for example), that this surreptitious eavesdropping habit i have developed has an odd transposition in the figure of cyrano de bergerac. what is the relationship between saying things without one knowing i am saying them, and hearing things without one knowing i am hearing them?