As often happens during late summer nights, I tend to feel a familiar soft wallop of pre-fall anxiety and bitter nostalgia. This summer has been a very lonely one, requiring more distractions than I’d been prepared for in my arsenal of overwork. One recent late night had Peter Pan crossing my mind; the boy (or girl - the stage production was a gender bender ahead of its time) who refused to grow up.
On Peter Pan
On Peter Pan
On Peter Pan
As often happens during late summer nights, I tend to feel a familiar soft wallop of pre-fall anxiety and bitter nostalgia. This summer has been a very lonely one, requiring more distractions than I’d been prepared for in my arsenal of overwork. One recent late night had Peter Pan crossing my mind; the boy (or girl - the stage production was a gender bender ahead of its time) who refused to grow up.