I guess I’ve always been a dreamer.
I think of myself as a serious guy, but looking back, maybe I haven’t taken my life seriously. I haven’t made practical choices. I clung too long to the things of a child, and I still resent being grown up. The fact that I have life insurance weirds me out when I think of it, which luckily is almost never.
Things haven’t turned out the way I imagined they would. It’s not so bad, this life I have, but the dreams — well, the dreams haven’t come true. They are now only dreams, having lost that component of hope that they had when I first dreamed them.
Tomorrow night I fire up one of the old dreams — the main one, now that I think of it — and take my rock’n’roll band before a live, paying audience for the first time in, well decades. The time I’ve wasted! I’ve written a few songs, and found some covers that I can sing with a straight face. Think of me on Wednesday at eight o’clock California time. I don’t have any illusions, and very little hope, but I will rock the house.
Because dreams die hard.