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“While it is annoying to be misunderstood it is intolerable to be fully exposed: a truly no-win situation, unless you elect to keep your mouth shut and your head down.”

I’ve been thinking about this quote because a Spo-fan recently suggested I write my autobiography. This is a flattering but redundant idea, given my blog acts already as such. I imagine a proper autobiography would be boring. My uncle used to say “I live a dull life” and I have not much to say either.

Writing my memoirs is a dilemma: either I do it myself (and bore the pants off people) or I don’t and risk the possibility some sociologist or blogger with too much time on his or her hands will do it for me, taking my dull doings and making them into something embellished and extraordinary.
Mind! I don’t think my life is uneventful. It is various but rawther mundane. “The laundry room roof has a leaky hole in it” is not devoid of drama, but it doesn’t have the same vivacity as “When I was thirty I shot my lover and had to flee to Canada.”

Last night Someone and I had The Dear Boy over for dinner. Discretion forbids me from disclosing all the details and I am back in another dilemma. Having said this I fear Spo-fans with reprobate imaginations will suppose there was debauchery, when in fact we were well-behaved. At least I think we were. After a full day at work I am tired and I am having troubles remembering much of last night’s details.

This is another problem about writing an autobiography: I’ve forgotten almost everything about my youth.  Mercifully, I don’t remember a thing about high school, which I take as a sign it was most unpleasant.

You can’t write an autobiography if you can’t remember who you were.

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