I've reached the end of my day before the end of the day. So what do I do now? Write you, of course. There was no time earlier in the day. After my swim and breakfast I had to go and get some money to pay my cleaning lady, having spent some of her stash foolishly on TTC Tickets. Went through some papers first (always papers) to write the odd note and clip some for later filing and delivering. (I run a clipping service for a number of people.) Then, since I was going out, anyway, I ran a number of other errands (wine, produce) and enjoyed the weather - beautiful, sunny, crisp fall day.
Then I finished reading my current book, so close to the end I had to. David Mitchell (latest The Bone Clocks) is a ventriloquist, also a prophet, although that's not hard to be. Then I had a nap. then I had a second lunch (last night's leftover dinner, too good to wait any longer). and finally, I wondered what to do now.
Feeling guilty on several different counts, but not guilty enough to spur me into action. This is where my mixed emotions about my age come into play. I have lived so long and accomplished so little and yet I still have ideas and goals, though they are not what they used to be. My goals are more personal, having to do with self-discovery and analysis. What I have done (very little) or not done (even less) doesn't matter much. How many writers today, accomplished, famous ones, are going to last as long as Shakespeare? So who am I to fuss about it? But I'm still here, tired right now but I'll do something tomorrow.
How was your day?