My Diary

The life of every man is a diary in which he means to write one story, and writes another.

James M. Barrie
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Spring fever has come late to me this year. I can't remember the last time I didn't want to write anything. I stare at the blank screen and have no words to put on it.

I don't feel like recounting the history of theatre, or urging people to be creative, use their imaginations and seek enlightenment. I don't want to reprise an old journal entry. I don't even feel like telling you what my birds are doing. The sink is full of dishes, the vacuum cleaner is on the floor, plugged in, but otherwise inert, the laundry bag is full of clothes. It's just too damn hot to do anything.

I never kept a diary, never recorded the life I wanted for myself. I just kept going along and whatever appeared at the next finger post or mile stone was what I did. A vagabond's journey. The day comes, and with it another chance at life.

I've known great joy and great pain, loved more women than I had any right to, frequently made a living doing things I wasn't qualified to do, performed on more stages and in front of more cameras and microphones than I can remember, never had a permanent home, never a real family, never traveled to a foreign country, am neither rich nor famous.

I wish I had a six pack of cold beer. But I don't, so apple juice on the rocks is my evening cocktail

I am not writing my life story. What's to write? Besides it isn't over yet.

DB - The Vagabond
Never giver up.
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SUMMER QUESTION

It's a long, hot, sticky summer, so here's a hot, sticky question for you.

Same sex marriage. Should it be legal or not? If so, why? If not, why not?

dbdacoba@aol.com

1 answer so far

You have until the last day of summer, but don't dally.
I eagerly await your answer.

DB
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