Kittens and Questions
I'm thinking today of a former neighbor who moved to Los Angeles to concentrate on his playwriting. He'd sold two one-act plays to theater companies ahead of this so packed up and headed west.
From what I recall of infrequent updates, he was happy and doing well and still writing, though not making his money or building a reputation with his theater efforts. (I recall the plays being very bizarre things that really couldn't take off. The sort of productions in which hosiery might be a character.)
So he lived across the hall from me. This was in southern Illinois. One day he went out and picked up a kitten from the animal shelter. He was really happy. The kitten was supercute. And he sat in his apartment smoking and watching the cute little kitten scampering about the cinder block and wood plank bookshelves, about the lazy-boy, about the second-hand, sextagonally shaped end tables.
He often stayed in his apartment and smoked. It worried me for a long time. I tried to keep the writers out and about and talking to one another. Reclusiveness, I thought, was a self-destructive trait for what was already a lonely pursuit.
After four days, I saw him outside smoking on the stoop so popped out to see how he was. He wasn't feeling very good. He'd brought the kitten back.
What was wrong?
It had been coughing, apparently, from the amount of smoke in his apartment.
Q & A
I submitted a number of questions to various bloggers. Their responses can be found here:
Country Mouse Tales
Mips, the Skyylark
Lollie's Follies
Jana
It's further along in the week than I want it to be. I want the weekend, yes. I want Saturday (open house for a friend who just earned an instrument making degree, drinks with my sister and her husband, going to the symphony with my Muse, and possibly meeting up with a writer friend I haven't seen for 7 years).
But I've much to accomplish in the next 24. Would appreciate Hiro's power from Heroes right about now.
-cK
From what I recall of infrequent updates, he was happy and doing well and still writing, though not making his money or building a reputation with his theater efforts. (I recall the plays being very bizarre things that really couldn't take off. The sort of productions in which hosiery might be a character.)
So he lived across the hall from me. This was in southern Illinois. One day he went out and picked up a kitten from the animal shelter. He was really happy. The kitten was supercute. And he sat in his apartment smoking and watching the cute little kitten scampering about the cinder block and wood plank bookshelves, about the lazy-boy, about the second-hand, sextagonally shaped end tables.
He often stayed in his apartment and smoked. It worried me for a long time. I tried to keep the writers out and about and talking to one another. Reclusiveness, I thought, was a self-destructive trait for what was already a lonely pursuit.
After four days, I saw him outside smoking on the stoop so popped out to see how he was. He wasn't feeling very good. He'd brought the kitten back.
What was wrong?
It had been coughing, apparently, from the amount of smoke in his apartment.
Q & A
I submitted a number of questions to various bloggers. Their responses can be found here:
Country Mouse Tales
Mips, the Skyylark
Lollie's Follies
Jana
It's further along in the week than I want it to be. I want the weekend, yes. I want Saturday (open house for a friend who just earned an instrument making degree, drinks with my sister and her husband, going to the symphony with my Muse, and possibly meeting up with a writer friend I haven't seen for 7 years).
But I've much to accomplish in the next 24. Would appreciate Hiro's power from Heroes right about now.
-cK
posted by cK at 08:37
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