December 15, 1999 – Wednesday – 9:31 p.m.

Clown of God has been over for a few days now, and total strangers are still complimenting me about it.  Classes are also over, which means I won’t have another course with Marie.  She grows in beauty and we grow in our special friendship.

I have a little Christmas tree up, so I’m doing my best to get in the spirit of Christmas.

Two of my scripts made it through the next stage of judging; one more stage to go.  I also was cast in two theater productions in the spring: Davis in In the Flesh and Luke in Pilate.  They both open in March.

Vince had to go home to get a root canal.  His car broke down, so he had to take a bus home.  He and Marie and I saw LaRue and Russ Taff in concert.

And, well, it seems as though life can’t be captured in these pages anymore.  I feel my journaling must change shape because I feel I don’t know its purpose, its style, or its reason.

Perhaps I feel that my emotions are stable and I no longer need to vomit them out onto a page in order to sort through my sense of self.  Or perhaps I just no longer have the time. Or perhaps I feel whoever eventually reads this will not care.  I wonder if I write so much of how I am out in screenplays that I no longer have anything left to say in these pages.  Maybe I just want to give all of me to Marie and not to these Books of Days.

Whatever the reason, I will continue to write.  Even if it all turns into abstraction, I will write.  For I must not second guess that the me I give to these pages is a gift to myself.  Whatever fleeting thought I jot down is all these pages are ever supposed to know.

 

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