Would waiting offstage for my cue these days be any different than the anticipation of that crust on my bread just out of the oven? I mean, I put thought, skill, talent & long years of experience into both. You should taste my handmade noodles. I don't even know where the inspiration comes from...an idea pops into my head & I can't get it out until I've done my due diligence & then made it work.

Clearly, I'm on a roll with home cooking, so what does it mean to ride that wave of divine guidance & then get sidetracked once again by head shots?  My theater buddy N. is a retired drama teacher and she has herself quite a thing going, with some films & public interest shorts & plays—I could get the name of her photographer, slap that puppy. Get out into the middle of the burbling brook & see how slippery the stones are. 

See, that's why I hate having 'the discussion', whether out loud with my partner or worse interior with my brain at three a.m.  Who is N. anyway? And why was I born NOT photogenic let's analyze this...meaning everything to give up and what to gain, the sense of accomplishment? Didn't I already do this, for chrissakes & got my butt kicked by the San Francisco Chronicle criticfucker? Did I not meet strangers in parking lots who said wait, weren't you in [fill in the blank] you were great! and wasn't that the rare kick in the pants...

Now I've heard yet again that someone close to me is diagnosed with incipient Alzheimer's & I missed a chance to go up to see him with other family, so what the hell. I bust open a package of garbanzo flour & turn out the lightest, smoothest tasty pasta & we have enough for leftovers.

No more headshots for me.