Miss Sasha plans her wedding. I’m planning the nervous breakdown. Mine, I mean. She’s got years of dealing with the family before she earns the right to An Unfortunate Incident At The Kentucky Fried Chicken, leading to A Period Of Resting Comfortably. Toss in some green Jell-O and you’ve got a story no one wants to tell the grandkids.
Last night, I started thinking of how to stage the Persephone piece in English and Italian for a bilingual panel discussion in February. Since I have virtually nothing to say that doesn’t come through a character, I’m hoping nobody asks me any questions and I can sit there as Demeter, Goddess of the Harvest, controlling Mommy. When she says, “It’s my way or the highway,” we know which highway she’s talking about. The script practically writes itself. What I can’t picture is wearing her espadrilles. Me, I mean. Demeter never updates to leather, it’s just not her style.
Audrey’s interested, which is exciting. She’s become a better writer than I am, which isn’t a big ambition. I’m not really writing anymore, which I’ve mentioned in the blog. Audrey, however, will be a star. I’m lucky she talks to me, but then I’ve got a photograph of her posed as one of Charlie’s Angels in a bar basement. Shoot, I’d be nice to me, too.