Holy cats this Wednesday came up fast.

The summer is over. Hello, September. Not quite sure how I feel about you yet, since saying farewell to August seemed so completely forced upon me. Like we met at a party and immediately hit it off and the you came along and yanked August away with maybe a little too much squeezing of her arm.

That’s right. September is a potentially abusive boyfriend.

?

The window is open and I’m smelling the heavenly wafts from the taco place on the corner. That restaurant is designed to tantalize. Every night they set up a big BBQ outside and the pastor is HEAVEN. I get the tacos with everything on ’em and one of the everything is a HOT sauce. When I’m eating, it becomes a race against my tastebuds, which are all but flayed from my tongue. But if I pause too long, or breathe too much, the full extent of the spice hits me.

So instead, I hork the tacos down like it’s my last meal and then sit, pouring sweat, for the next 15 minutes. Maybe this is a new spa treatment. The Taco Cleanse.

In the two days since I’ve been home I’ve had three auditions and shot a pick-up scene for an indie I have a small role in. And for some reason, although my body was happy to comply, my brain had trouble making the adjustment. Back to life, I mean. Don’t know what my problem is. Just

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