Dear Stewart,

Thanks for the great idea! Last night while running the booth for "The Trojan Women" and watching the show (which I actually do, but through that scratched up dirty sheet of Plexiglas the thing just doesn't look the same as it does from the house), and ruminating on the fact that you, yet again, were not there, I got an idea for a short story.

Since my creativity lacks, um, creativity, and my stories are always either based on reality or a not-so-dim reflection of reality, this one involves a middle-aged heroine who volunteers in a theater, working the lights and sound, who writes a blog about a famous musician (I'll probably make something up. I think he will be the blond, handsome lead singer of a band - a trio - whose fame peaked 20 or 30 years ago. What do you think?) who one night during the show, between light and sound cues, up and disappears.

I think it will be fun to write about the presumed chaos that will ensue. Total disaster is always fun to consider. I have wondered how many cues it would take before someone noticed that I was gone (or dead), and of course it would depend upon the actual point during the show that I choose to take my leave. Not that I would ever do this in real life (though I suppose if I were to die I wouldn't have much choice about it, would I): but it's kind of a lot of fun to think about. I've also thought about what would happen if there were a power outage, or an earthquake during the show, and I know that this type of thinking - disaster thinking! - is probably unhealthy, but it keeps me from getting bored, some nights. And then I have to decide where I, I mean she goes and how she gets there and what it all means, and that too will be fun to think about.

Anyway, last night I started writing it a little and though this story will probably never see the light of day or be read by anyone other than myself, it felt good to have a little project to work on. So thanks, dude. You have inspired me yet again.

See you soon, maybe, or maybe not: it's kind of all the same to me.

Love you,
Irene