I think I remember why my last blog crashed and burned. Maintaining it after the first blush of love becomes work. Not work you hate, mind you. Just work. Like house plants, pets and husbands, if you don't maintain them, they whither and die. Alas.
I'll be back tomorrow. Tonight, my play opens and I've become so single-minded about it that I'm officially boring even myself. Tomorrow, however, I'll be hungover and elated, both of which are fodder for ridiculous navelgazing hilarity in way that stress and the urge to face-punch everyone who breathes through their mouth is not.
Wish me a broken leg, darlings.
Procrastination
13 years ago
