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A friend just sent me an email with this as the subject heading. Even though I am tired and quickly approaching my self-imposed curfew (I’m officially back to work tomorrow!), I felt that the subject was worth honoring.

Tonight, a small group of us assembled outside a beautiful old barn of a community theater with the intention of honing our improvisational acting skills. Instead, we ended up sitting beneath a wise and magnificent Oak, soaking in the mountain breezes and sipping wine. We were alive with conversation and laughter and as the conversation continued both our social masks and our previous anxieties and depressions dropped away. (Several of us admitted to almost missing the rehearsal b/c of some sort of negative emotional funk.)

It was what we all needed: the safety and security and laughter and love that results from time spent with cherished friends.

Nothing profound.

I just wanted to honor that.

I love you guys!

Just wanted my greater fanship to know that I received yet another rejection letter! This time from a non-paying market.
Yay!

Don’t fret.

My self-esteem is still mostly intact.

I recognize that not everyone will appreciate my inner genius.

Plus, I am going to try to capitalize on my brush with Colbert by writing his team an outrageously funny letter. Look for an excerpt coming your way very soon!

I live in a really small town in North Carolina. And, I perform with a really small improv comedy troupe that was, this night, performing in a really small independent coffee shop on, you got it, a teensy few blocks of a quaint historic Main Street. Between the folk painted long-eared goats and the banjo pickers in front of the courthouse, there we are, comedy troupe extraordinaire, Gag Order.

As you might guess, with improv sometimes your hot and sometimes you are really, really, really not.Needless to say, I’ve had some less than uplifting performances. Until tonight I thought my worst possible gig was one in which an unexpected acquaintance appeared in the audience and for some reason– maybe it was the scowl of distaste upon her face– I froze like a deer in headlights, and then I froze like a deer in headlights, then I made a crass joke, and oopsy, I froze like a deer in headlights again.

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I’ve been banished to the backyard because I am being a bitch.

Again.

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Not so long ago I had very long hair. Down to my waist, in fact. Because I also owned a few pairs of Birkenstocks and wore the occasional long skirt, I was often accused of being a hippie. Generally, I took no notice. Yes, I recycle and tend a vegetable garden and enjoy camping in the out-of-doors, but I don’t really identify myself with the neo-hippie movement (if you can call it as such) or with the Rainbow People or with Dead-heads or Phish-heads or really any other kind of heads whatever they may be.

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So, checking my email this morning had a very Christmas feel. Not only did I discover that readers actually gobbled up last night’s literary milk and cookies, but they also rallied around me in a fit of support and praise. Yes, I received the festive gift of two positive comments and it’s not even noon yet!

I must admit, dear note-leaving souls, that your recognition of my most recent post has me floating on cloud nine.

Hello, Cloud Nine, it’s nice to see you again.

What? You’d like me to kick off my shoes and stay awhile? Don’t mind if I do.

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I must admit, I’m still concerned. I was writing everyday and now I’m not. I’m looking for something to blame, but I’m coming up dry. I am about to return to work full time (oh, the bitter agony) which concerns me even more. I am afraid I’ll revert into a dried up piece of nothingness.

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