• uneven numbers, except five, with special attention to three;
• pottery;
• people who do not appreciate dark humour;
• concrete cities;
• being given gifts;
• throwing myself into projects based on false information;
• contest shows on television, especially when it concerns singing;
• (literary) critics who don’t understand the fundamental difference between “realist” and “realistic;”

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So I don’t actually have a new play, or musical. Sue me. Though I guess that wouldn’t work because I do somewhat have two new plays I could present in my defence, but, still. Where was I?

Right. This is not a post about anything new (I’m still keeping the previously mentioned two somewhat under wraps for certain reasons), more that I would really like to start writing again. Since completing my last play—not the production of Heaven forfend!, but one of the aforementioned—in June, I haven’t really written anything theatrical, to be honest. And yet, I feel like I want to. I have always said that I cannot write a musical book, nor will ever attempt to do so, but why not? Furthermore, why not give writing a sequel play a try? The hell with it, why not.

I’m going to regret this post in the morning, because even I don’t understand it. Chaos. Which is a nice reflection of the parts in my mind reserved for creative thought, so. There. I made a point. Now let’s all move on, and forget this ever happened.

Academy Awards

And so the complaining can begin: “Eddie Murphy to Host 84th Academy Awards” (AMPAS).

I’m a difficult person, and I know it. Oftentimes, I annoy, irritate, frustrate, and wreck myself with my own behaviour, thoughts, and tendencies to worry about everything-and-nothing. It can take years to get to know the real me, though, to make things even more complicated, I’m in no way consistent with how far and how quick I open up to a person, or even how easily I trust someone. I’m a trusting person, even too trusting at times, but then on the other hand I don’t like people to see the real me because even I don’t want to really know that person. And on top of all that, I’m just plain complicated, and somewhat messed up. But it doesn’t matter; even though it’s hard to live with, everybody’s a train wreck, and nobody’s truly normal. And thankfully, and rightfully so.

Just so you know. Normal service will resume in five, four, three …

“What! Not whom! What! With what!”

— Stevie in Edward Albee’s The Goat, or, Who is Sylvia?

(The fact that I wanted to write, “Still one of my all-time favourites,” makes me feel old. The play’s only nine years old.)

Four to go ...

Six episode drafts done; four to go. Now if only I could stick to the season outline for once …