OBVIOUS
Yes, this is a hiatus. I've been working 70-hour weeks the last little while trying to get this record I'm making paid for, and rehearsing with a couple of new people (and still working with the old ones), and that is really consuming my life. I like that, and the results are already clearly going to be better than anything I've ever done before, which is kind of cool. But I have to get this crap done, and I know this space has suffered, even before the first of the month.

I'm not leaving for good. I like it here, and I miss reading my friends as regularly as I used to. But my resolution this year was to make sure I get some things done, and there always seems to be something else to worry about. So until I have something more to discuss than how tired I am or how I'm losing touch with my friends, I'm going to lay off the blog-kvetching for a month or so.

ASSHOLINESS*
For the first time since late February, I have regular and continued access to the net again, and can I get a hell yeah for that. But thanks to the fact that I didn't back up my hard disk very well (let this be a lesson to youse), I've lost my entire email address book, so unless you've heard from me since Easter, then it's entirely possible I have successfully lost track of you.

But before your heart jumps with the possibility that I might just stop following you through malls and staring at your darkened bedroom window all night from that car across the street (yeah, that's me out there, sorry if it's creeping you out, but well, you know), my memory is still strong from eating iron-rich foods and popping 10 to 20 times the RDA of chewable Vitamin C before breakfast every day. Also the utter solitude I have craved since I moved to New York two and a half years ago is finally mine, and with aging shut-ins on all sides of my apartment, I have a captive audience that disappears when I need quietude to remember something, like oh say which box all that stuff of yours I stole the last time I broke into your house is kept.

Still. Drop me a line, we can kvetch our little angsty hearts out until forever, until they find a cure for apathy, until one of us wins a Nobel Prize (bet it's gonna be you, wanna shake on it?), until I grow out my mullet again, until Osama bin Laden gets to play himself on Broadway in "The Producers II," until the apes take over.

Which of course means I'm back to rebuilding my whole life, sort of. It's all I ever do. Which is cool, see, I had nothing else planned.

It's good to be back here, making no sense whatsoever. Again. Still.

[Note: The word assholiness comes from "Heaven," a play by the great Sharon Fogarty.]