I live sometimes as if all the drama in the world has already been played out a thousand times, or more. And much of it has, I think. It’s why you can’t copyright story ideas, because all of them have been done and done and done, just with different words written in a different handwriting. But it is not with sadness or regret that I feel this way in the course I am traveling — it is more a sort of cruise control down the fairway, and I just gently steer left and right, no surprises right now, nothing to disrupt the flow. I imagine there will come days when everything will turn upside down and inside out, and that day may be near, to strike out of the blue — but even this prognostication does little to upset me. We tend to survive those kinds of things, n’est-ce pas? I’ll just wait here, in plain view, and perhaps fate has nothing to render upon me for the time being; ordinary days don’t get the credit they deserve. This day is well spent taking care of this day, and nothing more.
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