Another lurking deadline blindsided me yesterday (well, the day before) and I spent so much effort on it and, ultimately, emotion, that I was a lump for the remainder of the day and passed blog-time well before bed-time. My fault.

I had put off a reply to a biography project for playwrights for far too long, always too busy to go into the detail required to fill in the gaps in the information required for the completion of a program documenting the details of the plays of Canadian playwrights. I was away I was busy I was lazy I was daunted, to tell the truth, not so much by the details the memories I would encounter as by the feelings that would overtake me. Yes, indeed.

Overtaken by nostalgia and total recall and a combination of pride and ruefulness, I filled in the gaps, to be sure, but as I looked back I marveled at the energy and optimism I generated. How many times can you be pushed in the face and rise again with hope for the next time? I guess more than I can count. That’s when I started saying failure goes to my head. And I’m not even a complete failure. But of course my reach exceeds my grasp.

Well, as someone once said, tomorrow is another day.