I used to help my granddaddy make sausage. He would mix it up in a cleaned-out washtub with his hands, no gloves. Man, if we did anything like that today, they would jack the jail up and throw us under it.
When do you know you're insane? And when do you known you're sane? I think I treat a fine line between the two. It's a battle to function, but somehow I manage.
The drama may be called that part of theatrical art which lends itself most readily to intellectual discussion: what is left is theater.

