As relaxing as summer ought to be I always feel more wound up than ever despite having more daylight hours to check off my boxes. Fielding questions, refereeing, pumping flat tires, demonstrating how to properly set a volleyball, and spending an hour each day reviewing the past year's schoolwork with the three older kids in-between cooking healthy meals, laundry, and housekeeping, makes for a day simply chock-full of tedious non-stimuli. So like other hyperengaged aspiring creative types, I often squeeze in my work hours, after hours.

Twenty years ago I saw Rob Becker's, Defending the Caveman, the longest running solo play in Broadway history. In his exploration of inherent gender-specific behavior, Becker hypothesized that women have 20,000 words to use up each day...and I rarely make my quota when school's out. It's only July and I'm already linguistically constipated--starved for adult interaction. Particularly the easy company of precious old friends who are also dually slammed and short on time.