By Debbie Delvaux
Writing for comfort.
When I was a young girl, I never had the opportunity to really be one of the gang as I was always feeling left behind. Being the second of two daughters and very shy at times.
I would try to keep up with my sister and her friends. You know like the story goes of the second left behind or the tag along. Sigh!!
Well anyway, when I would be finding myself alone and no one to play with, I would either swing and drift to another world or walk the neighborhood and imagine myself as a member of their family.
The older daughter or just a secret agent disguised as one of their own members.
So many lives to pretend to be and yet so little time to be them when you would hear your mother call to supper and then to bed.
But as a day would go on, I would still try to live that life and be off somewhere when the television got too boring or the weekend too long with nothing to do.
To this day I can see myself in one of those many secret lives and that has given me the chance to now sit at my laptop, make that life come true and with no interruptions except when the telephone rings or one of the cats grabs my leg for attention.
Many of the lives spent elsewhere have given me comfort when I had hard times, bad times, or even silly times to say I will try that in a story someday.
So in retrospect, I have been given a gift of imaginary lives and way to live my own life the way I wanted it to be.