May 10, 1939 Wednesday
Today was Marit's birthday. She's seventeen and darn cute. Rachel made a cake for her and it was darn good. Took a bath and fixed some clothes and stuff. I can't think of anything else I did tonight. Of course I worked until six and I'm so tired. I guess my theory along with millions of other people that life is a stage or play and all the people actors in it is slightly wrong. I'm just one of the audience. I sit and watch others in the play of life. It's one form of amusement if you're too lazy or indifferent or unable to get on the stage and hold an audience yourself. Do I know what I'm writing?
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