Another moment for crossed fingers: I'm aching to do a musical project in which I compose the music. So I'm always looking for something in the public domain to adapt. I read a reference this morning that has me on the track of something, a very obscure work by Mark Twain that intrigues me, and the library even has it -- it would be nice and well timed if this became the foundation of a music drama!
I'm also eager to get back into video production. And writing prose! Damn, damn, damn. It all depends on having energy, which depends on getting rid of the virus. Prior to the virus, I'd been bragging to myself that it had been a couple years since I'd really been sick. That'll teach me. The gods are ALWAYS listening. ALWAYS!
Damn cold and wet out besides. Where the hell is Spring anyway?
Bitch bitch bitch. But then a poem comes to mind:
I live in a world where I have no right to bitch.
Just when I am ready to complain
about my arthritic knee, this clutching virus,
the news brings word of serial killers
and floods, abused children and bankruptcies,
and all manner of mayhem that has escaped me.
I limp away coughing, feeling like a fool.
--Charles Deemer
You can't win.
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