The monk on a yellow motorcycle.
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Again, with the dreams. I'm having such dreams, lately. A flood. Minus the ark. I think they're so vehement and vivid because I'm knuckles-down and knee-deep in rehearsals for The Complete Works of William Shakespeare [abridged]. We open next week, and I'm stressed, to be sure. But so long as I can get that stress out in my dreams, and not on the stage, perhaps, perchance, it will be all right. After all, the Bard said, There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy. Heaven help me indeed, if this is part of my philosophy. Earth, I...
She could smell me, couldn't she?
I don't mean to brag, but my hometown has what appeared to me, yesterday, to be the cleanest and most organized landfill ever in the entire world. At least from inside the truck. I'd taken the day off and driven home because, ironically, I'd not managed to make it there on Sunday for Nana's cooking. I intended on staying an hour at most, a quick lunch, a few updates, etc. but instead, I found myself at the landfill. Here's how it happened. I was making myself a sandwich from porkchop leftovers. Nana and U.L. were under the carport cleaning. I have never...
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