are you dead?

It's never a good sign when someone sends you an e-mail with this subject line:

"Are you dead?"

The fun continues with the message itself: "Speak to meeeeeeee frooom beyyooooond the graaaave!"
OK, I get it. Sadly, his note isn't the only one I've gotten in the past couple of days asking if I'm still breathing. I'm here to tell you, rumors of my demise have been greatly exaggerated. I'm very much alive and kicking. But the last two weeks have been dizzy and daunting. We had back-to-back house guests, the first one planned, the second an unexpected arrival whose plans had changed suddenly once he figured out that Southern Decadence was under water.
Good times were had by all.

The BF and I readily admit that having folks visiting makes us go out and experience things we'd probably not do otherwise. Therefore the past two weeks have included:
* Fire Island.
* Hairspray.
* Opaline (in its new location).
* Spirit (where the Sunday night party formerly at Avalon has moved).
* Alegria.

Our houseguests left Tuesday night, and I found myself neck-deep in another production cycle at work — a particularly grueling one, made worse by it being my third week on the job.

So here we are, the calm after the storm.
The summer, I guess, is over.
There's a new chill in the night air.
And yes, I'm still alive.