I'm sorry.

Is anybody still reading this?

I've been away for a while, going mad. We had to open a show on the road with little or no support from the producing company ... which I am the associate artistic director of... so that was tough. People were having breakdowns in rehearsal and stuff because we weren't ready. But we did it. And we'll do it again tonight - Sleepy Hollow, at the Commonwealth Performance Festival.And since Monday we've gone back into Hamlet rehearsals and we're now just trying to pretend we're accomplishing something with them. We all fell a little rudderless, and the main reason I haven't posted to this blog is that I've spent every waking moment with Hamlet either going into my eyes and ear, flying from my lungs, or perhaps entering my mind through osmosis as I fall asleep studying.

So I'm sorry, gentle readers. I will be a more faithful vassal to you. And the funny will return.

"Is it not monstrous that this player here,
But in a fiction, in a dream of passion,
Could force his soul so to his own conceit
That from her working all his visage wann'd,
Tears in his eyes, Distraction in's aspect,
A broken voice, and his whole function suiting with
forms to his conceit? And all for nothing!"