Sometimes I feel like Edwin the Boy Scout, who was perpetually a week behind in his daily "acts of kindness," to the point of polishing Bertie Wooster's black shoes with brown polish. Maybe my behindedness won't go so far as to inconvenience anyone.
I'm already behind on at least one event, the Patti and Mandy concert at KenCen, and by tonight I'll be behind by two more: Violet at Ford's, which closes after my matinee, and Importance/Earnest at STC, which I see has been extended to March 16. I blame a combination of the weather, work, the Olympics, and illness.
Is there a personality test that will illustrate my propensity only to get sick on snow days and holidays? Bleh.
Plus, a dog ate my homework. And it's getting harder to find a dog who's up to the task.
Never mind that I'm going through my dreamy season, both in the real sense of having an unusual bout of mysterious boyfriend dreams (who are these guys? And more to the point, where are they?) and in the literary sense, thanks to the reemergence lately of my dear old friends, Perry and Joy.
Someday I'll introduce you. I think they're reaching public domain status, having reached some 28 years since their conception. Dear old friends, they, still chattering on. Heh.
Fictional characters, imaginary friends
Potatoes, potahtoes.
Love, hosaa
remembering Joy (and Perry)
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