Im doing a play for the San Francisco Fringe Festival. It's called Bend the Rules, Eat the Head. The play is doing me, is more like it. I have no idea whats up and whats down. I guess that's sort of the point when you put up a piece of theatre. I want to be the best. I want to win all the prizes and cash. And the irony here is that I'm writing this story about an eighty year old woman who has very little consciousness around this thing, this thing of wanting to be the best. I'm writing this as an homage to this voice, this parasite, this daimon, this brilliance, this whatever you want to call it, that bends the rules and eats the head, that owns all of it. Im writing this to her. So it makes sense why I would lose my mind in the process. And it makes sense why I would lose my shit in the process. And it makes sense that I would make the people fall asleep or look on in horror. I must continue to ask myself the question, why am i doing this? Why? For what end? Is the process, in and of itself ever enough? Can it be enough, right now? This journey has been FULL of meaning. Can this journey be one of service? Can I serve and inspire others to walk with courage? Can I ask that that be my calling? Yes.