Due to scheduling snafus, skydiving never happened. Instead, I reached a new emotional nadir over the weekend. Darkness engulfed me in a way I hadn't thought possible. Like a cocktail of Poe/Emily Bronte/Sylvia Plath. Morbid and maudlin. Ick.
Out of the woods now. Sure, they're lovely, dark, deep. But promises and sleep make for strange bedfellows. Or something like that. Mixed metaphors FTW!
...There is a good chance that I am deprived of sleep and replete with caffeine.
Where does the time go? One minute I'm fretting about not having enough to do, the next I'm buried under a mountain of repertoire because I simply can't stop saying no to people. Someday I'll figure o
Suddenly half a year has gone by. "You'll write more," you tell yourself, greeting every day with a promise that "Today will be the day I start on that story/essay/novel" and every day the same ending
In an early post from this blog, dated December 30, 2013 (almost nine years ago to the day), I wrote: "The week between Christmas and New Year's is one of my favorites. Nothing too pressing ever happe