I have written a pageant. A Christmas pageant; God help us. Especially because it's going to earn me at least a million dollars. Yes. I'll tithe.

It's called Christmas P.M., like “P.M” instead of “Eve”, but something else, too. OK, here's a hint: it's a shout-out to Monstro, DH extraordinaire, who's writing his PhD comps essays all this week except when he's teaching/grading his four classes. He's superhuman.

He shrugs it off. “Can't hurt steel.” But I'm really proud of him and all he's accomplished, and continues to accomplish.

Boy-o and I were out of the house from 8:30a.m. until ten last night, except for naptime. I had an evening unstaged reading — the second Pioneer Valley reading — of Toby's play Standards of Care. It's mostly about people who are transgendered and the people who love them. Believe me when I say I play the female lead, though there's an ingenue, too. Toby is hoping to get it staged around here and although pretty much only I have read the part of Nancy, I couldn't do it on stage because there's a *really* sexy, fly-touching scene in it. And the only man I've kissed since I met Monstro (five years now) is Monstro; I don't want to, uh, blow the curve.