DANCIN' WITH MYSELF

September is almost over and not a moment too soon. Can you say "month from hell." Which came hot on the heels of the two previous months from hell (thank you Richard Lewis).

I taught 18 classes in the past week, which *could* explain the dizziness and near-fainting spells I've been having of late while teaching and practicing. Or it could be the M-word (it came to my mom early and they thought she was losing her mind and treated her to ice baths and electroshock). Why not? After just two months of being 40 I can already say that it has 35 beat, hands down (that was the year my dad died leaving my brother and me each a dollar -- which I still haven't seen -- in a will he signed on morphine three days before he expired. Also that year I was prescribed reading glasses *and* got an excruciatingly bad back, among other things). I can see the trailer now: If you thought 35 sucked, try 40! You get a career change! Fainting spells! A difficult breakup! And you get to witness a hairtrigger rebound that causes mutual friends to take sides and stains the memory of your formerly fabulous 40th birthday fete!

Oops, I'm not sposed to talk about that. But the more it's aired, the faster the stench dissipates.

Fortunately there are 10 months left . Anything could happen.....I could return to India. Play host to another parasite. Get a book deal. Do tick-tocks (gymnastic yoga move far beyond my capabilities). Figure out how to put URL's and photos on this here blog. Write a sit-com pilot with Addington that centers around my old malepals.

Doh! We already did that.

Proof that tragedy + time does indeed = comedy.