I'm thankful for my friends in the void of cyber-space who visit and care enough to comment.
Between birth and burial, we find ourselves in a comedy of mysteries.
If you don't think life is mysterious, if you believe you have it all mapped out,
could you please send me your map?
Most of the time we writers labor with the world around us not understanding our dreams.
You who visit the cyber-home of this weary blood courier, with illusions of becoming a writer, are most welcome,
for you understand our mutual journey in the dark.
And if you don't think life's a comedy, I am both happy and sad for you.
The rest of us need people with whom we can laugh.
Victor Standish believes that his mother was trying to tell him something important
in that strange bus trip to New Orleans:
Life is a bus ride,
and at the many stops along the route,
people important to us debark,
never to get on board again,
until by the end of the journey,
we sit in a bus where most of the seats are empty.
Thank all of you, my friends,
and sitting in the seat next to me
and chatting, making the trip
all the more enjoyable for your company!