So much depends upon

I am so desperate to speak with you that I could only come off as some kind of creepy stalker. Sorry about that, being driven has that effect on me; so, it's best that I not speak with you at all--a pain I carry inside of me that I would *want* to be invisible to you. I thought up a sketch this morning and I know who my perfect cast would be. I need some musicians too, and I know who would be perfect. Could I explain to you a desperation fueled by a creative urge so strong I can barely stand it? A transforming impulse trying to free itself from my creative starvation? An impulse that in all likelihood will vanish to the world with all the impact of the tap of one raindrop? I would pay to get this thing made.

But instead of shooting my video sketch, I am working on a piece of paper--a legal document--that has so far cost me into the five figures, which, by its nature (a confidentiality clause), no one will ever see. If only I knew how to charm people into working for free. Jim Jones could persuade 900 people to kill themselves, but he couldn't persuade them to make a silly 3-minute video sketch that got people laughing--and neither could I, at least not so far.

I'm getting ahead of myself. Let's see how my sketch goes over when I pitch it to my class. If it doesn't die there on the floor of the P.I.T. theatre on Saturday afternoon, maybe someone can help me put together a cast and a crew. A lot of actors would want this one on their reel; a lot of musicians would want this music on a CD of theirs. All I want is to have done it.