I know. Shh, shhh . . . it's okay. Everything's going to be . . . okay now. I'm back.
I am
so sorry
I left you for so many days without an update on my life and times. You must have felt hollow inside, devoid of hope and desperate for some word of me. Perhaps you even considered desperate measures in the interim, such as calling or emailing me. Well, I think we can all say with a sigh of relief that it did not, ultimately, come to anything so drastic as all that. Though some did text message me. I won't name names here. We all do things from time to time that seem reasonable at the time, yet in retrospect make us woozy. And I won't be held responsible for anyone's wooziness.
It is, in a way, apt that I abandoned the 'blog for a good four days. Not merely because my readership seems to
in the period between Thursday and Tuesday (What is it about midweek that makes folks flock to me weblog?), but because in this particular case I did nothing remotely theatrical. I didn't even think about theatre that much, if you can believe it. It's true. I would venture to say I made not one allegory betwixt theatre (or acting) and anything else. What could possibly inspire such aberrant behavior? Let me put it this way:
I have an apartment now.
Oh yes. The deed is done, if you'll forgive the pun. It's not exactly what I was looking for, but it's pretty durn close. A "cozy" studio (for $800 a month, it can be as cozy as it wants) on Flatbush Avenue in Brooklyn, just a hop and a skip (no additional jump necessary) away from southeast
. It'll do for a year, and hey: It may do for a good bit longer, depending on how things go.
All that remains is to actually move. Then my thirtieth birthday will follow hard and fast upon. Then I'll be in Italy. Then Pennsylvania.
Hm.
Maybe I should get used to keeping up the theatrical allegory whilst doing a million other things. Like the training sequence (
) in
Remo Williams: The Adventure Begins
.
You know packing to move is kind of like acting . . .