Some People Live the Same Day Every Day
Some people are bored.
I am not.
Some people live the same day every day.
I don’t.
Some people never change their opinions.
I do.
Some people have not picked up a book since high school or college.
I am not one of those.
Some people do not believe in life-long learning.
I do.
Some people like to clean.
I don’t.
Some people stay with one political party or one religion because it was their parents’.
Laugh.
Some people are garage-door opener sellers because their mom was a garage-door opener seller.
Really?
Some people never find out that they are a cartoonist, a poet, a painter, a gardener.
I did.
Some people live the same day every day.
Exactly as their parents did.
Other people live a fresh new day, every day.
The bound out of bed, delighted to be wearing mismatched socks, both fluffy of course.
They pop into their stretch pants, and their saggy, baggy, comfy, sixteen-year-old favorite Mickey Mouse sweatshirt and they head for their art studio.
Or they run to their office and plunk themselves down with a coffee or a tea and a piece of pie or something equally delectable, and they begin to write or draw or throw glitter in the air.
Guess which one I am?
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