I talk in my sleep. Constantly. My sister recently told me that she is terrified to walk past "my room" (the living room of my mother's apartment) because she's terrified I'm going to sit up straight, eyes wide open, and talk to her. She didn't understand what I meant when I asked, "well, why don't you talk back?"

My early-career plays explore various topics, but the thread through most of my work is the ways we actively or passively writhe around in shame and loneliness. But there's also so much heart, joy, and absurdity in them as well. My work explores the everyday tragedies of living, the systems and modes of thought that perpetuate them, and how we can all move together and be (hopefully) happier people. I describe a lot of my plays as tragicomedies; through all of the laughter and joy and cruelty and tears, there's always hope to look forward to. So that's probably the real thread through it all-- hope that we'll make it through it all and that things will get better.