One More…

So it’s October 12th.  Always, for me, my birthday. Columbus Day? I wholeheartedly approve removing that as cause for celebration.  People migrate, invade, infiltrate, spread. Why make a big deal out of something so common it happened before we figured out how to write? I never thought we needed to make heroes out of those people. We’re here now, time to make heroes out of people who make things better.

In any case, I am now, to my dismay and bemusement, 66.  I mean, seriously? I’m eligible for social security.

So, a picture:


Look at that. Does that look 66 to you? (Don’t answer that.)

In the past, I’ve indulged myself with state-of-the-me posts—here’s where I am, where I’ve been, what I plan—but today, I’m doing some major housecleaning, puttering, and trying to figure out where and how to go. All in all, I have no complaints. I take vitamins, an antacid, and that’s about it. I’m still exercising, still working, and still trying to be creative.

About that. The one thing I can say is, I lack the enthusiasm I enjoyed a few years ago. I no longer chomp at the bit to get cracking on new projects. I’m getting a bit worn down.

I’m not happy about that. I have things I still want to do. Some of them will have to wait till we deal with the current health crisis.  And the current political one.

It is actually difficult to write science fiction lately. Not because, as one might think, the times are more skiffy than what I might make up, but because it has gotten harder to muster the optimism required. Maybe if I wrote horror, it would be different. But I never liked horror. Just look around at the state of the world and you might understand why. The vicarious thrill of experiencing this kind of dread, fear, and uncertainty eludes me.

But personally, inside the walls of my head, my home, my gestalt? I’m fine. And that gives me pause, believe me.

I’m just a bit tired.

But, hey. October 12th, 2020.  I am sixty-six years old. I’ll still be tomorrow. And so on, till I’m not, but even then, I will going forward always be at least 66.

If anyone cares to do something to make it better, well, find one of my books and read me. Or go my photography gallery (links available on this site) and pick out something you might like on your wall. Such things are sustaining. And it makes me feel like I’ve done a thing or two worth your time.

Meanwhile, I have a future to work on.

Thank you for your kind thoughts.

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