The time has come to gird my loins (and that’s not so easy at my age) and get all the plays and poems and half-started novels together and try to see if I can leave any kind of legacy. After all, Shakespeare didn’t know he was Shakespeare. (He would have been as rich as Neil Simon if he had collected all the royalties for all the great and half-assed productions of his plays. Don’t start me on the movie rights.) As I wrap up my most recent HUGE STUPID LEARNING EXPERIENCE, I have to be honest and admit that I’ve bled that particular puppy to death and have nothing left to say. Alas, it has left me a better and smarter person, which means it’s going to be more difficult to make an ass out of myself and get a play and 200 “poems” out of my mistake. Still, I have faith that, even though I am old and crippled, I can find something to misinterpret and people to piss off. We had considered an Apology Tour, but that would just keep the negative river flowing and I think everyone wants off that ride. So, in addition to the task of cleaning this $@%*&; apartment, I have to sit down and do the rather daunting task of arranging all these words. (And believe me, they are known to run giggling and hide under the couch). Once we do that and straighten out the crappy pentameter and clunking imagery, we will then finally be free…to try and sell the damned things in a world without money. I never needed Will’s advice more than now.