I certainly have been still and dormant for some months now.
That time is passing, however, as I find myself being circled by a band of marauders intent on squeezing me back out of my shell. It's scary.
I suppose that's why I found some strange comfort in this story I just read this morning:
In 1947, after two profitable films about priests (Going My Way and The Bells of St. Mary's), Leo McCarey, a devout Roman Catholic, wanted to go back to the very beginning. He commissioned Sinclair Lewis to write a script about the Garden of Eden, set in Biblical times. The script was apparently less than perfect, but, years after the project was shelved, McCarey thought the problem lay in the casting. "The more you delve into it, the harder it is to find Adam," McCarey told Peter Bogdanovich. "Eve is much easier. … Why is that? I have brought the subject up at parties and the reaction varies completely." Jimmy Stewart and Ingrid Bergman were contenders at one point, but Stewart balked at wearing nothing but a fig leaf—because Bergman outweighed him. "The more I thought of it, however, he was right," McCarey said. "He's too thin."Don't ask me why I find solace in the knowledge that Ingrid Bergman was bigger than Jimmy Stewart. I don't have a ready answer for that. But solace I do find. And I'll take my solace anywhere I can get it.
Though there is something about a big Swedish woman ...