Day Two-Hundred-Three, Gentle Captivity

Only those rare natures that are made up of pluck, endurance, devotion to duty for duty's sake, and invincible determination, may hope to venture upon so tremendous an enterprise as the keeping of a journal and not sustain a shameful defeat.

Or so said Mark Twain. He favored white suits. His hair was often untidy. None of his books were very good. He was once my favorite writer.

I'm locked in place. I cannot go anywhere. I am at the mercy, such as it is, of the Samsung Corporation. And their Verizon minions. And Federal Express. This is their holiday season.

So I can but hope they make time for me. It would make a good Christmas story. Alone and cold. In Florida. Bound by a soulless corporation. The Littlest Hobo. It might make you cry, but there'll be a laugh or two. It will change your life. You will be made whole. In the filmed version I'll play myself.

I remain installed at the Knightens. They have been awfully kind. And are doing their best to keep me well fed. I would just as soon be walking. And less of a nuisance to anyone. I'm not really fit for polite company. My clothes are dirty. My manner is coarse. I am given to ungodly oaths. I pee a lot. I keep odd hours. I have a peculiar smell.

I don't know how very long I'll be here. It will be a few days more yet. Then I'll be ready to finish my trip. I've been dragging my feet since Kentucky. That's when my computer went south. It upset my rhythm. It has slowed my steps. I have to get the thing fixed.

Or die trying.

When this tree falls, it will make a sound.   My light won't hide under a bushel.   I've got adventures to publicise.  I've got people along for the ride.  I've got gators to wrassle and snakes to braid.  I've still got miles to go. It's drama you want.  You're not paying me to sit around.

But sit I do.  Bear with me.  I'm doing what little I can.