Back from reunion. Reunion was joyous and love-filled and infused me with the desire to Live Up to My Potential. Everyone was lovely and supportive when I shared the details of my coffee serf/impoverished thespian lifestyle. For some reason I was expecting to be shunned and disdained and made to stand in a corner with a scarlet 'F'for 'Failure'stuck on my blouse. I think I don't give people enough credit.

Finished up another new play festival tonight. Playwright (who has serious medical problems and is in wheelchair with breathing tube)kissed my cheek and thanked me for beautiful work. Was bright spot in otherwise dingy week of arduous coffee-related labor and emotional turmoil related to recent breakup.

Am having serious insomnia problems again. A gentleman of my acquaintance shares my affliction. A prolific playwright, he claims to get all his good ideas in the wee alone hours of the morning. I do not get good ideas. I lie awake worrying about nuclear devastation, various diseases, the possibility that life really is completely without meaning and the possibility that I will die alone in a tiny apartment with no one to change my adult diapers or pay attention to my last words. This does not put me in the mood for sleep. Maybe I should try to go back to sheep counting.

Which reminds me of a joke which I heard today and find sidesplittingly funny.

Q. Why do Scotsmen wear kilts?
A. Because sheep can hear a zipper a mile away.

Heh,heh. My very proper Scottish grandmother would be horrified, but I can't keep from giggling.