Today is heart-achingly beautiful.  It's around 60°, with a soft breeze and the most gorgeous sunlight...

Last night I mentioned to Judi how I think I am too serious on these pages.  She agreed, and told me to stop trying to sound intelligent, and just be funny and playful like I am in person.  

Hmm.

I don't write in person, I write in isolation.  I perform in person.  I play me.  But here I let the role go and search for flesh.  In writing, I grope blindly on a big, big stage for the person who plays me.  It's a random search, and most of the time I am nowhere near me.  But once in a while I hear a noise, a sound of me stirring.  Over there! I go, arms out, fingers probing dark and empty space, getting closer.  I hear me move.  I twitch, and step that way.  I feel me lightly brush my side.

Then, like a warm soft breeze on a rare November day, me is gone.