Incubate Myself. Forswear Nothing.

I'm not exactly sure what that means, but that's what came out when I started rearranging the magnetic poetry on Kim's refrigerator. If I were more motivated, I could get out the rest of her magnetic poetry set and see what else comes out, but what I probably should do is track down some food, prepare lessons (considering I resume teaching on Monday), and write at least a scene from one of the plays that I am working on so that when I go to the writing group meeting tonight, everyone else won't think I've spent the past few weeks staring at walls.

Actually I've been working hard, just not on the plays. I've been working at the Fringe Festival, and whenever I'm not at FringeCENTRAL, I'm trying to see as much theater as I possibly can, and talk to as many other theater-obsessed people as I can, and just trying to get myself into the proper mindset to get through drafts of these two plays. Especially the one that I am avoiding. About Richie and Jude and being a kid back on 11th avenue and 9/11 and how painfully blue the sky is in New York at this time of year. Am I avoiding it because it's not ready to be written or am I avoiding it because it's a really emotional subject and it's just much easier and more enjoyable to write comedy?

I suppose I am getting ready to Incubate Myself.

As far as the Forswear Nothing part...well, let's just say I'm going to try to keep an open mind to the messages that the universe seems to be slapping me in the face with recently. Otherwise, I have a few friends who would be only too happy to do some literal slapping of my face.