The day after: life goes on. Another day to push my body through time and space, going home. I have packed my bag. Now I have to unpack my mind.

Well, the reading: it went. I have nothing but admiration and gratitude for actors who can pull something or other out of a hat, not necessarily a rabbit, but a living creature of some sort. My play wasn't up on its feet. 'That was never the intention. But the actors gave my words - not wings, exactly - but they made nice noises, appropriate ones, for an audience of three, maybe four.

My daughter and granddaughter came, bless them, from Boston and Astoria (Brooklyn), respectively. That's two. A friend of the co-producer came. That's three. The photographer came, and took pictures. Does he count? There were a couple of staff people, I think one the co-producer called an assistant schlepper, though I didn't see him schlep anything. After the read, there was a talk-back. The co-produceer asked me a question and I answered, quite a long answer. We had a little champagne.

Now I wait probably six or seven months to see if my play gets a full production. I doubt it will. Several people commented on how beautiful my writing is. That's nice but it's not the same as enjoying the play, is it?

And that's all I have to say about that.

Oh - thank you to my two commentators, two loyal, loving people who are biased in my favour.