"CAT WOMAN ON A HOT TIN ROOF" WOULD HAVE BEEN A BETTER TITLE
It's the last night of the Spontaneous Combustion festival, and no one's been killed yet, which in my books qualifies it as a good run. The play I wrote on Friday seems to have gone over well (I'll post it tomorrow when I'm back home), and the one I'm in -- well, I'm in this scene with a 12 year old girl, and I haven't freaked her out with my potty mouth or my penchant for public indecency. (I've not slept much at all since Friday, and while this is fun and great and I could do this for the rest of my productive life if circumstances warranted it, I would cut my arms off and sew them on again for a full night's sleep.)

My biggest problem with the show is that forever, from here on, for the rest of my life, my first published work for the stage will have been entitled Flashing Monkeys On Crack!

I should have maybe thought ahead about that. Still. No (other) regrets. Stay cool if you can.